Pride and Power
by ThornfieldHall
Summary: It was a truth universally denied that a girl with an ailing family, had little wish for a husband. Unfortunately for Margaret Hale it was a truth universally acknowledged that that a single merchant in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. AKA the Jane Austen-esque regency AU no one asked for.
1. An Indecent Proposal

The air is crisp when Margaret Hale enters the carriage in front of her aunt's house in Harley Street. Now that her dear best friend had gotten married, it was time for her to return to her family home of Helstone.

Despite the fact that Edith had seemingly married on the warmest day summer had to offer and autumn was but a month removed, Margaret looked forward to being reunited with her childhood home. Wrapped up in her morning gown and her fine Indian shawl, she smiled excitedly at her father once he awakened from the sleep he had entered minutes after departing London.

Looking at the lush dusky green forest trees, the fern below them catching all the slanting sunbeams, Margaret decided she very much loved being back home surrounded by tranquil nature. She didn't spend her days running around chasing butterflies like she used to, but she very much reclaimed the unworried tranquillity of Helstone life, visiting the poor, and making long walks. However, life away from home, with only the occasional holiday visit, had made her forget the awkward silences and the hours of discontent.

It was in these hours the negative attitude of her mother hit her most hard. 'It is undoubtedly one of the most out-of-the-way places in England. I can't help regretting constantly that papa has really no one to associate with here; he is so thrown away, seeing no one but farmers and labourers from week's end to week's end. If we only lived at the other side of the parish, it would be something. There we should be almost within walking distance of the Stansfiels, certainly the Gormans would be within a walk.'

Margaret rather liked not being near the Gormans, who had made their fortunes in trade. She disliked shoppy people and much preferred cottagers and labourers and other people without pretence.

Seeing her daughter's discontent, Mrs Hale protested. 'You must not be so fastidious Margaret, dear! I've met the young Mr Gormans at Mr Hume's and he's quite an agreeable gentleman. Oh how can you deal with Helstone, you must find it dull at times like these without diverse society. This is not the place to find a husband or friends.'

'No mother, I call mine a very comprehensive taste. I like all people whose occupations have to do with land, I like soldiers, sailors and the three learned professions. I'm sure you don't want me to admire butchers, bakers and candlestick makers, do you, mama?'  
'But the Gormans were neiher butchers nor bakers but very respectable coach-builders.'  
'Very well, but it is a trade all the same. I think it is even more useless than that of butchers and bakers. Oh! How tired I used to be of the drives every day in Aunt Shaw's carriage while I longed to walk.'

And she stood by her words, disliking tradesmen and detesting coaches, walking plenty at her father's side with the wind in her face. But during the evening hours, she had to admit that she found it growingly difficult to spend her evenings in a satisfactory matter. Not that she had always amused herself or spent the evening in a useful fashion in London, but there the evenings had at least the benefit of not being so monotone she was reduced to counting the sound of raindrops. It was during these gloomy September days she missed having Frederick around, before he entered the navy, before the mutiny happened of which she knew so little.

Later on she wondered if it was during evenings like these where the lack of intellectual acquaintances was felt, and they spent their evenings reading philosophical books and drawing, that Mr Hale had started philosophizing and questioning to the point of no return.

A point that shocked and saddened everyone in the household so shortly after a first shocking event presented itself to Margaret that very same day. The shock presented itself first joyfully, in the form of Henry Lennox.

Margaret's parents warmly welcomed the friend and Margaret was at first glad to spend time with someone of about the same age and intellect with whom she had spent so much time during the courtship of Edith and his brother. She took him to the beautiful places she had told him about, and intensely enjoyed the break from solitude as she drew him whilst she sat on her tree trunk throne. But how soon did her joy turn to horror when he proposed. She had not been naïve, she had known of Mrs Shaw's desires to see the two spares married as well, so that both her daughter and niece could have a wealthy London life of leisure.

Something switched in Margaret. She had just gotten home. She wanted to spend time with her parents after these ten years in London. How could she abandon them now that she had finally returned? How could she return to London, just now that she had decided she was glad she didn't need the London fancies to live? Here she assisted her mother and offered her the female intellectual conversation and emotional understanding her mother had so sorely missed, here she supported her father's good works. She couldn't trade it for idle afternoons discussing fashion and visiting superficial acquaintances again. She wished she was back with her parents, safe.

She didn't even know how to take the proposal, and was rendered mute until mr Lennox coaxed her out of it again.

'I was startled. I did not know that you cared for me that way, sir. I have always considered you a dear friend, and please I do wish to continue thinking of you like that. I don't like to have been spoken to as you have been doing. I cannot give you the answer you want, but I will feel so sorry if I vex you with my answer.'

'Margaret, do you-' His lips moved but no other words followed once he saw the serenity in her eyes, the absolute lack of emotional passion or conflict. 'Miss Hale, forgive me. I have been too abrupt. I am punished. Only let me hope. Give me the poor comfort of telling me you have never seen any one whom you could- '

'Oh if you had but never let this fancy get into your head! It was such a pleasure to think of you as a dear friend, mr Lennox.'

'But I may hope, may I not, miss Hale? That some time you will think of me as a lover. Not yet, I see, there is no hurry, we have some time.'

'Please know that I have never thought of you as… As but a friend. Mr Lennox, Henry, I like to think of you so, but I am sure I could never quite think of you as anything else. Pay let us boh forget all of this conversation has taken place.'

'Of course, your feelings are so decided, they always are, are they not miss Hale? This conversation has been so unpleasant for you, it is best if it will not be remembered. You must however understand that it will be somewhat difficult for me, to carry it into execution.

Margaret had never before dealt with male emotions, let alone declarations of love. All love always went straight to Edith who had a face simply made for loving. She felt out of depth, having never considered love nor having learned how to deal with emotions in conversation. She had of course, objectively and distantly known that she was supposed to marry and she had known that an engagement was necessary for marriage. But she had never imagined getting one, nor had she imagined the possibility of declining one. She felt unfairly unprepared for this ordeal.

'You are vexed, my friend, yet how can I help it?'

'Allow me the mortification, not only the mortification of a spurned lover but that of a man who is used to being so prudent yet forced to abandon prudence because of passion. But come, let us say no more of it. We shall leave this behind, I shall have to console myself with scorning my own folly', he exclaimed while mustering a smile.

But Margaret couldn't return the smile. He was indeed a dear friend, her best friend who understood her better than all others in Harley Street even, but his reaction to her refusal had made obvious the points which had always annoyed her; the entitlement and disdain for things which didn't bend to his will.

When, at the end of the evening, after the most awkward of dinner's, Henry Lennox spoke his parting words to her, Margaret was glad of her stay in Helstone, for it would have been exceedingly difficult to deal with him on a daily basis in London. Because despite that his goodbye made her forgive his entitled words after her refusal, it still left her feeling very uneasy and unsettled. 'Margaret, don't despise me, I have a heart. Not withstanding all this good-for-nothing way of talking, as a proof of it, I believe I love you now more than ever- I don't hate you- for the disdain with which you have listened to me during this last half-hour. Goodbye, Margaret.'

Margaret was left reeling in the wake of his parting, the silence now deafening. She didn't notice when Dixon brushed her hair most hurriedly, and didn't even notice her mother coming in the drawing room as she sat by the fire.

Men were so different to women, she decided. Her instincts had left her no choice but to refuse him. She had at first marvelled at how just moments after a refused proposal, he could talk lightheartedly while he was supposed to have an indescribably large love for her, but then she realized that Henry being Henry, he probably concealed his feelings with humour so as not to show them. After all, they did share the opinion that showing too much emotion and sentiment in public was distasteful.

But she was certain she could not have been so calm after having her heart broken. But then again, how often had Margaret's emotions been so violent and intense? She couldn't remember the last time she had been overcome with emotion since that first week of sadness and adjustment had passed when she came to live with aunt Shaw.

She couldn't even imagine feeling that kind of intensity ever again. Until her father spoke the most incredible words to her that evening, the words she thought she'd never hear: 'Margaret, I am to leave Helstone.'

If Henry Lennox's proposal had been a slap to the face of her lovely tranquillity, this declaration hit her other cheek and left her eyes burning at the injustice of it all.

Why was this happening?

She had wanted to return to Helstone and her family. She had rejected Henry Lennox because of her lack of love for him, but most importantly because she wanted to be together with her family in Helstone instead of in London… And now they were going to leave?

His reasoning was another strong hit to her heart. 'I must no longer be a minister in the Church of England.'

The mystery surrounding his statements made it all the worse. It was obvious that it stemmed from years of sad, long, lingering pain. His face, old, wrinkled and worried begged from a kind judgement from his child.

It could not be understood.

He could not be convinced.

He was decided and their fate was sealed.

Nothing could be changed.

Nothing could be done.

Except help with the packing and moving.

To the harbour town of Liverpool in the high North of Britain where the Liverpudlians lived and scouse was served and spoken.


	2. Meeting Mr Thornton

Margaret wasn't quite convinced they as a family would do well in the city. Her mother loathed the loneliness of the country and therefor society could be good for her. However Margaret sincerely doubted her mother would enjoy the society of a big harbour city filled with merchants. She knew she herself had a strong dislike for these merchant men and their ways. Her father had found a living as a private tutor of some wealthy local aristocracy and some high off merchants, but it wasn't a job within the church. There would be no parishioners Margaret could help, there would be no people she was welcome to visit. She couldn't quite imagine how she would occupy herself in a useful manner.

It had been a painful thing to tell her mother who, when she first found her the next morning started telling her of her little plans for adding some small comforts to the lot of the poorer parishioners. She could not help listening, though each new project was a stab to her heart. By the time the frost had set in, they should be far away from Helstone. Old Simon's rheumatism might be bad and his eyesight worse; there would be no one to go and read to him, and comfort him with little porringers of broth and good red flannel: or if there was, it would be a stranger, and the old man would watch in vain for her.

'Oh mama, let us do all we can for the parishioners as soon as we can do it, for we may not be here for long.' Her mother was confused, and then shocked, when Margaret ever so gently informed her of her father's decision.

Margaret truly didn't know if there was a way she could have told her mother the unthinkable without having her worry. To say she was shook would be a big understatement. Meanwhile Dixon was furious, and wouldn't stop feeding unsatisfied remarks to Mrs Hale and Margaret. And though Margaret detested Dixon for encouraging the depressing thoughts which were already present in her mother's head, she couldn't help but notice in between discussions about the move with her parents and visiting the parishioners, that her mother, whose health hadn't been perfect to begin with, seemed to be declining even more.

'Dixon is something the matter?'

'No miss, why do you ask?'

'I've noticed you and mother are spending quite some time together lately. She is still quite alright isn't she?'

'Of course miss, you needn't worry. I've always taken great care of her.'

'I don't doubt that, Dixon. It's just that I'm her daughter, if anything is amiss, I should know of it.'

'You needn't worry. She'll be just fine. She's just very shocked because of the move. You know she wasn't made for the countryside with its lack of society, but neither was she made for some self-made city reeking of fish.'

'I know, but what is there to do?'

'She would do well enjoying the countryside for a bit, getting away from all the worrisome rushed plans. Just the idea that there is no house yet, and our furniture would have to remain somewhere in the meanwhile… It's not ideal Miss Hale. If only your father would understand that! But he has always been so preoccupied with his own thoughts.'

So that day, as her father went up after tea to sit with his wife. Margaret remained alone in the drawing-room. Suddenly she took a candle and went into her father's study for a great atlas, and lugging it back into the drawing-room, she began to pore over the map of England. She was ready to look up brightly when her father came down stairs.

'Papa, come over here!' She said as she noticed him.

'I have hit upon such a beautiful plan. Look here, hardly the breadth of my finger from Liverpool, is Lambton, which I have often heard of from people living in the north as such a pleasant little place. The valleys and the Pemberey estate are quite lovely, they even have roman thermal baths in the town. Now, don't you think we could get mamma there with Dixon, while you and I go and look at houses, and get one all ready for her in Liverpool? She would get a breath of air to set her up for the winter, and be spared all the fatigue, and Dixon would enjoy taking care of her.'

'Is Dixon to go with us?' asked Mr. Hale, in a kind of helpless dismay.

'Oh, yes! She quite intends it, and I don't know what mamma would do without her.'

'But we shall have to put up with a very different way of living, I am afraid. Everything is so much dearer in a town. I doubt if Dixon can make herself comfortable. To tell you the truth Margaret, I sometimes feel as if that woman gave herself airs.'

'To be sure she does, papa,' replied Margaret; 'and if she has to put up with a different style of living, we shall have to put up with her airs. But she really loves us all, and would be miserable to leave us, I am sure- especially in this change; so, for mamma's sake, and for the sake of her faithfulness, I do think she must go.'

Her father, as always trusting in the sound reasoning and clear-headedness of his daughter, agreed. This was a great step. Now Margaret could work, and act, and plan in good earnest. And now Mrs. Hale could rouse herself from her languor, and forget her real suffering in thinking of the pleasure and the delight of going to the genteel countryside. Mrs Hale only regret was that Mr Hale could not be with her all the fortnight she was to be there. It had been a very long time indeed since the two of them spent a fortnight apart. The last time had been when they were engaged, and she was staying with Sir John and Lady Beresford at Torquay.

Margaret had cried at least five times by the time the night had set on the day of their departure. Despite all their preparations, moving had still been a messy whirlwind, but by the time dusk set in, they'd finally arrived in London.

Their evening passed without employment in a room high up in a hotel. Mr Hale had still managed to find two acquaintances to meet up with. But there was no such joy for Margaret and her mother. Everyone they encountered in shops or on the street appeared rushed. They alone seemed strange and friendless, and desolate. Yet within a mile, Margaret knew of house after house, where she for her own sake, and her mother for her aunt Shaw's, would be welcomed, if they came as happy family members. Yet now they would arrive in sorrow, if they came and London life was too whirling and vibrant to pause itself to mourn and pity the unhappy ones. There would be no sitting, like the friends of Job, where 'they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him; for they saw that his grief was very great.'

After that evening, Dixon and her mother set out to Lambton, while Margaret and her father embarked on their journey to Liverpool.

Mr Hale's friend, Mr Bell and the friend of Mr Bell called mr Thornton, had suggested four houses for the Hale's to inspect. Their Helstone home had never been much, more aimed towards comfort than fashion. It hadn't been particularly large, but it had always suited their needs.

This had lead them to think that since they didn't have many airs, it would be quite possible to find a satisfying home in the city. Just two sitting-rooms, a study for their father, and four to five bedrooms. Certainly nothing unusual for a middle class home with a very limited amount of children – just the one – and a limited amount of servants. But the organisation and the amount of rooms was not to their liking anywhere. Their Helstone home had many windows and overlooked on much greenery, but here there probably be no garden, nor quiet calm streets. And the wallpapers were so gaudy, Margaret couldn't quite fathom who would ever think it would be a nice decoration to their home. True, in London her simple and utilitarian taste wasn't too common, but such gaudiness as was present in the homes they visited here was looked down upon as well.

After a morning of visiting the homes, they decided to pore over their choices with a cup of tea.

'We must go back to the second one on Cranford road, I think. It is not too far off of a park, not too near the harbour and not too far from shops. There were three sitting-rooms; don't you remember how we laughed at the number compared with the three bed-rooms? But I have planned it all. The front room downstairs is to be your study and our dining-room, though I am sorry the two will have to be merged together. We have settled mamma is to have as cheerful a sitting-room as we can get; and that front room up-stairs, with the atrocious blue and pink paper and heavy cornice, had really a pretty view, with the little front garden down below, though we have none at the back. Then I could have the little bed-room behind, in that projection at the head of the first flight of stairs-over the kitchen, you know-and you and mamma the room behind the drawing-room, and that closet in the roof will make you a splendid dressing-room.'

'But Dixon, and the girl we are to have to help?'

'Dixon is to have, let me see, I had it once. She can have the back sitting-room. I think she will like that. She grumbles so much about the stairs at Heston; and the girl is to have that sloping attic over your room and mamma's. Won't that do?'

'I dare say it will. But the papers. What taste! Overloading such a house with colour and heavy cornices is quite awful!'

'Mayhap you can charm the landlord into re-papering one or two of the rooms-the drawing-room and your bed-room. Those are the rooms mamma will come most into contact with; and your  
book-shelves will hide a great deal of that gaudy pattern in the dining-room.'

Her father, as always agreeing with her visions and relieved that there was a way to make at least one of the houses agreeable with some very basic redecorating and reorganizing, nodded. He would contact the landlord and ask to change the wallpaper, and she was to order lunch and rest at the hotel.

Margaret hoped his request would be granted, though she said nothing. She had never come in contact with the taste that loves ornament, however bad, more than the plainness and simplicity which she believed to be the framework of elegance. Her father took her through the entrance of the hotel, and left her there to go after the man who would hopefully become their next landlord.

Just as Margaret had her hand on the door of their sitting-room, she was approached by a nervous waiter.

'I beg your pardon, ma'am. The gentleman was gone so quickly, I had no time to tell him. Mr Thornton called almost directly after you left. Mr Hale had told me you would only be gone for so long. Which was exactly what I told Mr Thornton. He came back about five minutes ago, and said he would wait for Mr Hale. He is in your room now, ma'am.'

Believing her father to come back within half the hour, she decided it would only be polite to receive the man who had helped her father an Mr Bell in collecting a list of possible houses, a man who would soon be one of her father's pupils as well. Surely it wouldn't be indecent to receive a man both her father and Mr Bell regarded with praise. She was tired and much desired some rest, but making a man who had already come by once before wait even longer would be terribly rude.

Margaret opened the door and went in with dignity and fearlessness. She felt no awkwardness, she was too used to society from her time in London.

Mr. Thornton however, was a good deal more uncomfortable and unprepared than she was. He had never been very comfortable in any kind of society, not when meeting up with men from his own trade and especially not when meeting unfamiliar people of the opposite sex. No indeed, experience had taught him to mistrust anyone he met, for they would gladly spend time with John Thornton, the wealthy man, but none of them would be there should he ever fall from grace again. Yes indeed, the people here lived in constant fear of losing their positions and wealth, and were only focussed on themselves, with no care for the misfortune of others. John understood this, it was the only way one could go on, but it made trust and easy connections quite hard indeed. And now, instead of a quiet, middle-aged clergyman, a young lady came forth with a kind of dignity, air and attitude unlike those he had seen before.

His eye was drawn to her plain dark grey dress, which she wore in memory of the death of a distant relative, unbeknownst to him, which was fine and of high quality. Her straw bonnet sat close around her head with only a simple sash adorning it. Her dress had none of the excessive trimming his sister preferred, and there was an absolute absence of jewellery on her person. The only bit of decoration was her large coloured Indian shawl, which hung about her in long heavy folds, and which she wore as an empress wears her drapery, quite unlike the practical styles most Northerners preferred when wearing shawls.

He did not understand who she was, as he caught her eye. She was not surprised to see him, that much was clear, her lovely ivory face shewed no blush. He believed himself to be quite the opposite to her cool indifference and simple clothing. He was well dressed today, since it was market day, his clothes were fine and decorational, but not as tailored as hers. His own face was much less reserved and a good deal more astonished than hers, he could barely swallow when looking at her. He had heard that Mr. Hale had a daughter, but he had imagined that she was a little girl.

'Mr. Thornton, I believe!' said Margaret, after a half-instant's pause, during which his words remained stuck in his throat. Just like that she had taken away his role as initiator, despite him being the man and the visitor.

'Do please sit down. My father brought me to the door not a minute ago, Unfortunately enough, he departed for some business before the waiter could tell us you had arrived. But he will come back almost directly. I am so sorry you have had the trouble of calling twice.'

Mr. Thornton was in habits of authority himself, but had a seemingly natural rule over him at once. Before her arrival he had been getting impatient while pacing the room. Today was a busy day for him but now he sat down wordlessly. When he realized he had yet to say a word, he tried his best to come up with something useful.

'Do you know where it is that Mr. Hale has gone to? Perhaps I might be able to find him.'

'He has gone to a Mr. Donkin's in River Street. He is the landlord of the house my father wishes to take in Cranford Road.'

Mr Thornton knew the house. He had seen the advertisement, and been to look at it, as he had promised Mr. Bell's that he would assist Mr. Hale to the best of his capabilities. He had to admit that the case of a clergyman who had given up his living under circumstances such as those of Mr Hale had intrigued him and had given him a certain mental image of the man and his family. However upon seeing Margaret, with her elegant ways and airs of high society, he began to feel ashamed of thinking such a home would befit them. He nodded, remaining silent as his mortification sank in for she must know he had advised them to visit this home, and three others which were barely if at all better than the one located on Cranford Road. She knew now what he thought to be fitting for them.

Yet Margaret thought little of Mr Thornton, rather she thought about herself. Instead of analysing him, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror above the fireplace just before sitting down and mourned she had to meet up with a friend of her godfather now. Her face had never been a delight to begin with, according to herself. She had an arrogant short curled upper lip, a proud round upturned chin, and a way of carrying her head in a way which her niece had often remarked upon as defiant, and now she had bags under her eyes from restless nights to boot. She was tired now and knew it wouldn't help the general first impression of haughtiness people got from her. She would rather have remained silent, and taken the rest her father had planned for her; but, as Mr Thornton appeared not to be the kind to offer polite and easy conversation, she as a gentlewoman was needed to speak courteously from time to time to this stranger; not over-brushed, nor over-polished, she was too tired for that kind of artifice.

She wished that he would go, as he had once spoken of doing, instead of sitting there, answering with curt sentences all the remarks she made. Never once however, did he pick up a topic and decided to take it on to have a deeper conversation on it. He thought it was the polite thing to do, to just answer to her, his hostess. He felt no need to take over the conversation of her, quite enjoying her soft voice and different accent. She however, found this way of conversation much more taxing.

Getting warm, she took off her shawl and draped it on the back of her chair, but continued to play with the tassels. Mr Thorton could hardly decide on what to fix his gaze, a problem he had never encountered before. Certainly, he had met women who were considered beautiful but never had any one of those practiced the same kind of attraction over him as she did. His eyes went from her slim long fingers playing with the tassels,with long nails which showed a comfortable lifestyle. His gaze then slid to her round white throat rising out of the full bust of her lithe figure. Her lips were full and her green eyes had a lovely haughty curve and met his with quiet maiden freedom.

He wished to say her haughtiness and her unbothered look annoyed him. How could she, who should be below him, look so at ease and natural in her state of authority as a host while he, in control of his own big firm, felt so mortified. How could he look at her and only admire her beauty, whilst she probably looked at him as for what, in his irritation, he had often told himself he was: a great rough fellow. He had no grace or a refinement about him. His complexion was dark from his time at sea, his skin marred with the occasional scar from his time in the navy.

The father had always appeared most kind in his letters, but if he, like his daughter, would be so contemptuous in real life, Mr Thornton wouldn't want to have anything to do with these Hales anymore.

Just as Margaret had exhausted her last subject of conversation, her father came in to save the day with his unending amount of kindness and courteousness. With the friendliest apology, Mr Hale immediately reinstated his name and family in Mr. Thornton's good opinion.

Mr Hale and Mr Thornton started talking about the only thing which connected them: Mr Bell. Margaret was relieved that her job was over, and went to the window to try and make herself more familiar with the strange aspect of the street. She got so much absorbed in watching what was going on down the street, that her father had to call her attention twice before she confusedly turned to him. Rubbing her face to shake herself awake. It was only in this instant, when he recalled Mr Hale saying how early they had risen and how much they'd walked, that her calm uncaring looks may have very well been a sign of tiredness, and now a concern for her, as she looked tired yet lovingly towards her father, grew.

'Margaret! the landlord will persist in admiring that hideous paper, and I am afraid we must let it remain.'

'Oh no, how dreadful! Well, I can't find an immediate solution to it but we will figure something out. I'm sure.' she replied, and began to turn over in her mind the possibility of hiding it with her sketches and paintings. In the meantime Mr Hale tried to convince Mr. Thornton to stay to luncheon with them. As it was market day, he felt inclined not to, unless both of them had insisted on it. But it was clear Mr Hale's daughter would not pressure him further, he was glad she did not, and yet he was irritated at her for not doing it. When he took his leave, and as he tried to extent his hand, she gave him a low, grave bow when he left, and he felt more awkward and self-conscious in every limb than he had ever done in all his life before.

When they returned to Mrs Hale, they had a lot to tell, and she had a lot to ask.

'And what is your correspondent, Mr Thornton, like?'

'Ask Margaret,' said her husband. 'She and he had a long attempt at conversation, while I was away speaking to the landlord.'

'Oh! I hardly know what he is like,' said Margaret, who was too tired to give a lengthy account. Deciding it would be impolite to not say anything at all, and seeing the curious look on her mother's face, she decided to yet make an effort. She thought back on the intimidating dark man she had met this midday, whose strong severe look had made her quite uncomfortable and who made it even more difficult for her to appear careless and easy in her way of conversation with his short unconversational responses.

'Well, he is a tall, broad-shouldered man, dark of hair and brow but with light eyes, about-how old, papa?'

'I should guess about thirty.'

'About thirty-with a face that is neither exactly plain, nor handsome, nothing remarkable-not quite a gentleman; but that was hardly to be expected.'

'Not vulgar, or common though, really Margaret. I will never enforce on you the same visions as I have but the way you talk down everything that stems from the city from the people, to the houses and everything that is connected to trade isn't particularly kind. Most can't help the places the places they are born in or the parents they come from,' put in her father, feelin protective of the sole friend he had in Liverpool.

'Oh no!' said Margaret. 'With such an expression of resolution and power, no face, however plain in feature, could be either vulgar or common. I should not like to have to bargain with him; he looks very inflexible. Altogether a man who seems made for his niche, mamma; sagacious, and strong, as becomes a great tradesman.'

His gaze danced in front of her eyes just as she talked of him, and though she deemed it unpleasing, just thinking of his eyes gave her an unsettled feeling which made it impossible for her to simply call him plain or unattractive. But objectively, she knew his face to not be the kind which could be called gentlemanly or handsome by the London standards she knew her mother held. But as her father reprimanded her negative words, she thought on the next bad thing she had encountered which she simply had to tell her mother about.

'But, oh mamma! speaking of vulgarity and commonness, you must prepare yourself for our drawing-room paper. Pink and blue roses, with yellow leaves! And such a heavy cornice round the room! It is quite horrid indeed. Papa asked if their was a possibility to refurnish a couple of the rooms but unfortunately there was nothing to be done about it. I'm sorry.'

However when they removed to their new house in Liverpool, the obnoxious papers were gone and replaced with soft yellow and cream on the first floor, for some fortunate reason the exact colour of Helstone roses, while the downstairs was now grey with blue. Unbeknownst to Margaret the colours were very much intended as they consisted of all the colours of Margaret's yellow shawl with blue, green and grey flower details she had worn on the day she had met Mr Thornton. The landlord received their thanks very composedly, and let them think that it was he who had reconsidered repapering. There was no particular need to tell them, that what he did not care to do for a Reverend Mr Hale, a no one in Liverpool, he was only too glad to do at the one short sharp remonstrance of Mr Thornton, the wealthy merchant.


	3. Snow brings friends

Even the new wallpaper everywhere, the installing of their furniture, the spreading of their home made throw pillows in the sitting rooms and the hanging of multiple of Margaret's sketches and paintings could not help Mrs Hale's dismay upon entering the house.

Margaret had done her very best while unpacking and arranging with Dixon for two full days, on the first day sleeping in her room which only held her bed and nothing else yet. She hadn't been able to sleep, the noises from the street foreign and the shapes of the walls too enclosing. Margaret had always had a hard time adjusting to new places, and reminisced on that first week she'd been with aunt Shaw when she had cried each night. But now at least she had found comfort in the fact that her time of discomfort was spent in solitude with Dixon so that her mother could arrive and feel comfortable.

They had closed all shutters and had even opted for coloured curtains so that when the shutters were opened, the greyness of the city wouldn't be as noticeable.

'Oh, Margaret! are we to live here?'

Margaret's heart echoed the dreariness of the tone in which this question was put. She could barely bring herself to reassure her mother that the house was still quite cosy and that they would quickly adjust. She convinced her mother that though the north was clouded and dreary, London could be so too.

'But then you knew London, and you knew that beyond the rain filled streets, there were houses filled with friends. Here… we are desolate and alone. Oh Dixon, what a place this is!'

'Indeed, ma'am, I'm sure it will be your death before long, and then I know who'll stay! Miss Hale, that's far too heavy for you to lift.'

'Not at all, thank you, Dixon,' replied Margaret, coldly. 'The best thing we can do for mamma is to get her room quite ready for her to go to bed, while I go and bring her a cup of coffee. And please be so kind not to mention the topic of death if you please. I have no desire for any of my parents to find their death soon and I see no reason as to why anyone should die. I've seen people of high age on these streets, and my parents are still decades removed from theirs. Just the thought makes my heart shake, do refrain from such comments. Besides, though it may reek of fish near the harbour, we still have the fresh sea air which has always been recommended for many health complaints. '

Mr. Hale was equally out of spirits, and equally came upon Margaret for sympathy.

'But Margaret, I do believe this is an unhealthier place than Helstone. Only suppose that your mother's health or yours should suffer. I wish I had gone into some country place in Wales; this is really terrible. The streets are much less safe or clean.'

Only the day before, Mr. Hale had been reckoning up with dismay how much their removal and fortnight at Heston had cost, and he found it had absorbed nearly all his little stock of ready money. There was no way to make their home more comfortable for the present until he had taken up his tutoring job.

At night when Margaret realised this, she felt inclined to sit down in a stupor of despair. The window of the bedroom she had condemned herself to, placed at the side of the oblong, looked out on the dull diry white walls of another house, with a bare courtyard filled with laundry lines. The only greenery existed of ivy curling around the fences. It was a depressing change from the outlook of her previous bedroom which had consisted of rose bushes near her window, and proud woodland in the distance.

Inside the room everything was in a state of disarray. All their efforts had been directed to make her mother's room comfortable. Margaret sat down tiredly on top of a box.

No! It wouldn't do well to sit here and mourn her situation. She needed to get on with life and make the best of it. The happier she tried to be, the more she could calm her parents. While sorting through the box she had initially set herself down upon, she discovered a letter of Edith which she had only half read in the bustle of their departure. It was to tell of their arrival at Corfu; their voyage along the Mediterranean, the music she was practicing, and dancing on board ship. Her cousin had quite the gay new life.

Margaret allowed herself to dream away, envisioning the home Edith had arrived at on Corfu with its trellised balcony, views over white cliffs and deep blue sea. Despite Edith's lack of graphic detail, Margaret let her fantasy run free with the details Edith had put in her enthusiastic letter. Edith had put in enough particulars for Margaret to imagine herself as Edith, as she arrived to the country by boat, her excitement at first seeing the villa, and her joyful talks with the wife of the other lately married captain's wife they shared the villa with. She imagined the carefree cloud of happiness Edith seemed to be living upon, and she was happy for her, she truly was. Though she wished herself to possess even an ounce of her cousin's happiness. A live in which her most arduous task was to copy and learn the newest and most popular English music seemed awfully dull, but just a small measure of comfort wouldn't be a thing she would mind.

Edith expressed an affectionate hope that, if the regiment stopped another year at Corfu, Margaret might come out and pay her a long visit. She asked Margaret if she remembered the day twelve month on which she, Edith, wrote-how it rained all day long in Harley Street; and how she would not put on her new gown to go to a stupid dinner, and get it all wet and splashed in going to the carriage; and how at that very dinner they had first met Captain Lennox.

Margaret remembered it with a smile. Edith and Mrs. Shaw had gone to dinner. Margaret had joined the party in the evening. The recollection of the plentiful luxury of all the arrangements, the stately handsomeness of the furniture, the size of the house, the peaceful, untroubled ease of the visitors-all came vividly before her, in strange contrast to the present time. The smooth sea of that old life closed up, without a mark left to tell where they had all been. The habitual dinners, the calls, the shopping, the dancing evenings, it seemed to have been sealed off forever. How recent that type of life had been! Yet how far removed was she from it now, never to return?!

She doubted if any one of that old set ever thought of her, except Henry Lennox. He too, she knew, would strive to forget her, because of the pain she had caused him. She had heard him often boast of his power of putting any disagreeable thought far away from him.

What if she had agreed to marry him? She would never have to worry about finding new friends and money like she did now. Never would she have had to work like she did the past week, or would work the coming time. How her prospects had changed, from being a wife with a life of leisure to one of a daughter of a clergyman who quitted. It was a bitter mortification to her in one sense; but she knew her father's purity of purpose, and that strengthened her to endure his errors. Her mother had often remarked how everyone with her father's blood suffered the curse of overthinking. Her father, Frederick and she had always been able to think and question things to the point of making their own lives incredibly difficult. But at the same time her mother could not help but love them all the same for their thoughtful, caring, pure consciences.

They were at the lowest now; they could not be worse. Edith's astonishment and her aunt Shaw's dismay would have to be met bravely, when their letters came. So Margaret rose up and began slowly to undress herself, after all the past hurry of the day she wanted to take her time to undress and brush out her hair. She fell asleep without bothering to put in her curlers.

Only two weeks passed before her mother caught a severe cold, unused to the stronger oceanic winds and the colder temperatures near the sea. Dixon herself was evidently under the weather as well, but Margaret knew taking care of her would be an insult. Girls came in to apply for a job, but were scolded by Dixon, for thinking that girls such as they could ever be trusted to work in a gentleman's house. Margaret sometimes rolled her eyes at Dixon's ridiculously high standards. No quadroon's nor Irish girls were welcome, despite them being as common in this town as English girls, and sometimes just as well schooled. But the women in this town weren't as unemployed or without choice of job as in the south. Women here often worked in the family business, in shops, in fish stores, taverns, or working at home mending sails and making clothes.

However because of their illness, Margaret had no time to ponder her life, what she thought of Liverpool or how awful her life was, because she was too busy with business like laundry, shopping and cleaning.

Mr. Hale met with several pupils, recommended to him by Mr Bell, or by the more immediate influence of Mr Thornton. They were mostly of the age when many boys would be still at school. Yet in Liverpool people were of the belief that young boys should be taught their trade from an early age, be it at sea, office, or warehouse. From the age of thirteen to fourteen these young boys were taught their trade and all their academic interests were cut short in the hopes of instilling a sense of commerce in them. But, once their trade was taught some parents, and some young men, who were aware of their shortcomings which made them less equipped for polite society, decided to remedy them by getting an education wherever they could. And the personal approach of a tutor suited them, for tutors could school them there where their gaps of knowledge were the greatest or most bothersome.

Some needed her father desperately to learn French, of which they had barely seen a proper basis in school which had long since gone out of their heads because of a lack of practice. Others needed to brush up their Latin, as their high placed business partners and aristocratic investors, yet others desired to know of economic theories to improve their understanding of the economy and the market.

Mr Thornton was almost the oldest of Mr. Hale's pupils and definitly the favourite. Often during dinnertime, Mr Hale quoted Mr Thornton's opinions or remarks he considered amusing.

Margaret often joked with her mother, how much of the time her father and Mr Thornton spent together was spend studying, and how much was spent talking to both their enjoyments.

Margaret had to admit she was astounded how easily her father took to the activity of the harbour town and the energy of the men of Liverpool. But Margaret and her mother were currently restricted to the territory around their house, as they were not yet released in any society which they could visit, nor could they roam freely and witness the vibrancy of the harbour or the energy of these people. But one thing was clear to Margaret, despite her father's talks with those who invested money in tutelage: there were many poor in the city, and there was much segregation and diversity, and it was much more noticeable than in London in Margaret's eyes. The question for her always was: has everything been done to make the sufferings of these poor creatures as small as possible?

In the end, after two weeks of looking to no avail, Margaret took it upon herself to find someone to assist Dixon. Dixon wasn't used to the rough independent way in which all the Liverpool girls, who made application for the servant's place, replied to her inquiries respecting their qualifications. They had even questioned her back again.

Margaret accordingly went up and down to butchers and grocers, seeking for a nonpareil of a girl; and lowering her hopes and expectations every week, as she found the difficulty of meeting with any one in this self-made town.

It was something of a trial for Margaret to go out by herself in this busy bustling place. Back in London Mrs. Shaw's sense of propriety and own dependence had always lead her to asking a footman to accompany Edith and Margaret, if they went beyond Harley Street or the immediate neighbourhood. Now Margaret was free and quite independent but walking in these busy streets was very different from the free walks and rambles of her forest life in Helstone.

Here in Liverpool, no street was ever really quiet. There was always someone walking somewhere, and in the distance you could constantly hear the ringing of the bells of ships arriving and departing. Margaret told herself that after living in a world city like London, she could not be frightened. But she had lived a secluded life, and she knew that her life had only played out in a certain region of the town. Therefore she had been in shock the first few times she encountered a dark face, or rough drunks staggering out of alehouses when she got into certain neighbourhoods during her earliest ventures.

She had been astounded when bumping into the bold, fearless faces, and loud laughs and jests, particularly aimed at all those who appeared to be above them in rank or station. The tones of their unrestrained voices, and their carelessness of all common rules of street politeness, frightened Margaret a little at first.

But after some weeks she started getting used to them, just as she got used to the girls who would comment on her dress, even touch her shawl or gown to ascertain the exact material, as they were trade women and knew fabrics well enough, despite not being able to afford the London fashions sometimes. Margaret felt quite charmed by love of dress, and their counting on her kindliness, that she gladly replied to these inquiries, that she even smiled when spoken to from time to time.

But she did however, remain uncomfortable because of the remarks of workmen who openly commented on her looks, something which had in London been seen as the greatest impertinence. She couldn't help but blush, even when she realised that because of how open they were and how much they jested, that they didn't mean anything with it.

For instance, one day, after walking past a couple of men who exclaimed they wished she was their sweetheart, which had lead Margaret to continue on her walk, wondering if she, in her present circumstances, would ever end up as someone's "sweetheart" or if she would end up an impoverished spinster forced to work, one of the lingerers pulled her out of her thinking by adding: 'Your bonny face, my lass, makes the day look brighter.' It only made her curse herself for thinking of her luxurious misery when some were so poor and pitiful that just seeing a fairly untroubled face brought them joy.

Not two days later, another such a remark got thrown her way. 'You may well smile, my lass; many a one would smile to have such a bonny face.' This man looked so careworn that Margaret could not help giving him an answering smile, glad to think that her looks, fairly plain as she considered them, should have the power to call up a pleasant thought. In the very least, it made Margaret accept that maybe she wasn't ugly, simply a different kind of beautiful than the people in her limited London circle fell for.

He seemed to understand her acknowledging glance, and a silent recognition was established between them she encountered him on the streets, despite the fact that they never exchanged words anymore. Once or twice, on Sundays, she saw him walking with a girl, evidently his daughter, who didn't seem too well.

Even the winters season had decided to be as different as a Helstone winter as possible. Barely any snow fell here, because of the proximity to the sea. Margaret had been looking out towards a white Christmas at Helstone, when she returned from London with her father, but even that seemed not to be in the charts. Until, one early December morning, Margaret woke up and found her window frosted over. As she walked towards her window and opened the shutters, she discovered to her delight that the freezing temperatures of the last week had finally brought frost and snow. She set out for a walk with her father, such coldness not being good for her mother, and they set out to one of the bigger parks.

In the park, she encountered the man she so often before had recognized on the street with his daughter. The man appeared surprised to finally see her with her father as well.

Margaret's spotting of them, went paired with Mr Bell encountering one of his pupils with his very young daughter, who ran through the snow in delight. The man greeted her father with the warmest of greetings, and took in Margaret with surprise.

'My my, and this is the daughter you've been talking about? How do you do miss?'

'Very well, and you?'

'Very well. I'm enjoying my rest, ice rocks are beginning to shape in the Harbour, we're now nearing real winter, I'm enjoying the calmer pace of work for the time being.'

'Yes, it is much a seasonal trade is it not? I have noticed the streets have grown quieter.'

'Yes, the floating population has gone to sunnier places for the season or gone fishing up North, desperate to grab money where possible.'

Margaret nodded, as the man and her father finished conversation, she smiled kindly towards the little girl.

'You should come to our pre-Christmas dinner, it's a yearly occasion my wife and I organise to try some new recipes for the festivities. Do take your wife and daughter, I'm sure my wife would be delighted to meet your entire family, she's been most interested in the man who convinced me to pick up books again. Goodbye, Mr Bell.'

Margaret allowed herself to laugh heartily.

'Are you the Mr Bell I've been hearing so much about lately, the one that's been tutoring the son of our employer?'

'That may very well be possible, I teach a lot of young men, but I don't know who your employer is', Mr Bell answered politely to the man with his daughter Margaret had seen before.

'I work at Ball& Hallaghar shipping comp'ny on th' docks. Yo're not of this country, I reckon?'

'No!' said Margaret, half sighing that they were still the outsiders. 'We come from the South—from Hampshire,' she continued.

'That's beyond London, I reckon? And I come fro' Burnley-ways, and forty mile to th' North. And yet, yo see, North and South has both met and made kind o' friends in this big seaside place.'

Margaret and Mr Hale had slackened their pace to walk alongside of the man and his daughter, whose steps were regulated by the feebleness of the latter. She now spoke to the girl, and there was a sound of tender pity in the tone of her voice as she did so that went right to the heart of the father.

'I'm afraid you are not very strong.'  
'No,' said the girl, 'nor never will be.'  
'But spring will be here shortly,' said Margaret in an attempt to cheer her on.  
'Spring nor summer will do me good,' said the girl quietly.

The girl's father didn't disagree. 'I'm afeared hoo speaks truth. I'm afeared hoo's too far gone in

a waste. I shoul not of sent her off to work in the cotton mills closeby with 'er mum. By the time my wench was lost to me and my lass returned, her lungs were already filled.'

The girl whispered of an eternal spring in heaven, her father only sadly shaking his head.

'Poor lass, poor lass!' said her father in a low tone. 'I'm none so sure o' that; but it's a comfort to thee, poor lass, poor lass. Poor father! It'll be soon, I have no doubt.'

Margaret was shocked by his words-shocked but not repelled; rather attracted and interested.

'Where do you live? I think we must be neighbours, we meet so often on this road.' Mr Hale looked at his daughter in surprise, that she would have come in contact with a work force of his kind and stance.

'We put up at nine - Street, second turn to th' left at after yo've past th' Goulden Dragon.'

'And your name? I must not forget that.'

'I'm none ashamed o' my name. It's Nicholas Higgins. Hoo's called Bessy Higgins. Whatten yo' asking for?'

Margaret was surprised at this last question, for at Helstone it would have been an understood thing, that she was to call upon any poor neighbour whose name and habitation she had asked for.

'I thought… I meant to come and see you.' She suddenly felt rather shy of offering the visit, without having any reason go. As long as her father had been of the clergy, she had always been free to visit anyone in reduced circumstances or in need of something, her kindness and visits were seen as an extension of her father's job. But now, without any solid excuse or her father's former occupation It seemed all at once an impertinence on her part; she read this meaning too in the man's eyes.

'I'm none so fond of having strange folk in my house. Yo're a foreigner, as one may say, and maybe don't know many folk here, and my wench coul' do with some company;-yo may come if yo like.'

Margaret was half-amused, half-nettled at this answer. She was not sure if she would go where permission was given so like a favour conferred. But when they came to the town into a street Margaret had yet to learn the name of, the girl stopped a minute, and said, 'Yo'll not forget yo're to come and see us.'

Margaret went home, wondering at her new friends and the impeding dinner they'd been invited. Maybe after the awkward first month in which they had been restricted to their home, they would finally enter society and talk with someone who wasn't family. From that day Liverpool became a little bit brighter.

The day after this meeting with Higgins and his daughter, Mr. Hale came upstairs into the little drawing-room at an unusual hour. Inconspicuously examining objects in the room, which Margaret knew was a nervous thing he did when collecting courage to announce something.

'My dears! I've asked Mr. Thornton to come to tea to-night.'

Mrs. Hale was leaning back in her easy chair, with her eyes shut, and an expression of pain on her face which had become habitual to her of late. But she roused up into querulousness at this speech of her husband's.

'Mr. Thornton! Tonight! What in the world does the man want to come here for? And Dixon is washing my muslins and laces, and it's snowing none the less.'

Mrs. Hale, shuddered, and wrapped her shawl about her more closely. 'But, snow or sunshine, I suppose this man comes.'

'Oh, mamma, that shows you never saw Mr. Thornton. He looks like a person who would enjoy battling with every adverse thing he could meet with, enemies, winds, or circumstances. The more it rains and blows, the more certain we are to have him. But I'll go and help Dixon. I'm getting to be a famous clear-starcher. And he won't want any amusement beyond talking to papa. Papa, I am  
really longing to see the Pythias to your Damon. You know I never saw him but once, and then we were so puzzled to know what to say to each other that we did not get on particularly well.' Margaret said in an attempt to calm and amuse her mother, and encourage her father, whose face had quite crumpled upon his wife's reaction.

'I don't know that you would ever like him, or think him agreeable, Margaret. He is not a lady's man.'

'I don't particularly admire ladies' men, papa', Margaret laughed. 'Besides, he comes here as your friend who has been kind to you, how could I not like someone who treats you with the respect you deserve? We will give him a warm welcome and some cocoa-nut cakes. Dixon will be flattered if we ask her to make some; and I will undertake to iron your caps, mamma.'

But despite her positivity in that instant, Margaret sorely regretted Thornton's coming. She already had a busy day set out for herself, filled with writing a letter to Edith, reading a good piece of Dante and visiting the Higginses as she had promised. Because the day before, after the walk with her father, she had already spent the remainder of the day managing the household and doing chores. Matter of fact her back still ached from the exhaustion of the previous day.

And now she was yet again forced to make the house ready for visitors, as she endured Dixon's copious complaints. Margaret had to remind herself of her father's regard for Mr. Thornton, to subdue the irritation of weariness that was stealing over her, and bringing on one of the bad headaches she had started suffering lately, she believed it was caused by the limited amount the rooms were aired because of the current temperatures in combination with the increased amount of smoke in the rooms because of the burning fire places.

As Margaret, after working for four hours, finally emerged from the backrooms into the comfortable sitting room of her mother, she got lectured by her saddened mother, who detested what her daughter had to do.

In Mr. Thornton's house, at this very same time, a similar, yet different, scene was going on. A large-boned lady, long past middle age, sat at work in a grim handsomely-furnished dining-room. Her features, like her frame, were strong and massive, rather than heavy. Her face moved slowly from one decided expression to another equally was handsomely dressed in stout black silk, of which not a thread was worn or discoloured. She was mending a large long table-cloth of the finest texture, holding it up against the light occasionally to discover thin places, which required her delicate care. There was not a book about in the room, very unlike the Hale household, with the exception of Matthew Henry's Bible Commentaries.

In some remote apartment, there was exercise upon the piano going on. Ms Thornton was practising a morceau de salon, playing it very rapidly; every third note, on an average, being either indistinct, or wholly missed out, and the loud chords at the end being half of them false, but not the less satisfactory to the performer, who was a true waste of the piano lessons that had been paid for her.

'John! Is that you?'

Her son opened the door and showed himself.

'What has brought you home so early? I thought you were going to tea with that friend of Mr. Bell's; that Mr. Hale.'

'So I am, mother; I am come home to dress!'

'Dress! humph! When I was a girl, young men were satisfied with dressing once in a day. Why should you dress to go and take a cup of tea with an old parson?'

'Mr. Hale is a gentleman, and his wife and daughter are ladies.'

'Wife and daughter! Do they teach too? What do they do? You have never mentioned them.'

'No! mother, because I have never seen Mrs Hale; I have only seen Miss Hale for half an hour.'

'Take care you don't get caught by a penniless girl, John.'

'I am not easily caught, mother, as I think you know. But you mustn't speak of Miss Hale in that way. I never was aware of any young lady trying to catch me yet, nor do I believe that any one has ever given themselves that useless trouble, least of all her.'

'Well! I only say, take care. Perhaps our Liverpudlian girls have too much spirit and good feeling to go angling after husbands; but this Miss Hale comes out of the aristocratic counties, where, if all tales be true, rich husbands are reckoned prizes and girls intend very much to catch them before they turn twenty.'

This made Mr Thornton laugh, thinking back on the uncomfortable meeting with Mr Hale's daughter. 'Mother, you urge me to confess. The only time I encountered her she seemed to treat me with haughtiness and aloofness as if she were a queen and I an unwashed vassal. She is in no danger of wanting me, and I am in no danger of falling for her. I must be a far cry from the aristocratic southern suitors she has been raised with. Now there, doesn't that calm you?'

'No! How can I be satisfied to know a renegade clergyman's daughter, turns up her nose at you! I would dress for none of them-a saucy set! if I were you.'

Mr Thornton shook his head in amusement.

'Mr. Hale is good, and gentle, and learned. He is not saucy. Should you wish it, I shall tell you tonight how his wife is.' He shut the door and was gone.

Margaret after having lighted the chandelier and having her father hoist it to to the ceiling, hooking it in place, had set about lighting all the other candles in the room when she heard some commotion downstairs, alerting her that Mr Thornton had arrived. The tall figure was ushered into the drawing room. Margaret set about finishing her task as Mr Hale greeted his friend and introduced him to his wife. After all, Mr Thornton was here for them, not her. What use was it to call attention to herself?

Once she was done she turned towards the trio, Mrs Hale drawn back into her chair with her shawl, oh Margaret so desperately wished her mother wouldn't make such a sad ill sight. To just see her healthy and roaming about the room, being the graceful hostess she knew her mother once was.

Mr Thornton was appraising the room, Margaret analysed his gaze with fervour. What would he think? This rich local, of their tiny home which was so decidedly Southern in styling. She could only discern surprise and softness in his gaze, no judgement, no critical assessment.

She wondered what his house was like. Did he live like a bachelor with bare functional rooms? Or in a womanly house decorated by his female family members, possibly a wife?

Did it matter to her? She didn't know. She better occupy herself with filling the teacups. She flattened her pink gown and bent over the china. As she got to the third cup, she suddenly felt the hair on her arms stand upright. She was keenly aware of being observed, and straightened her back as she poured the last cup of tea with decided grace, deciding not to let her tiredness show.

As the cup filled to the brim, her bracelet decided to fall to her wrist. Margaret surpressed a sigh of annoyance and pushed it back up. It had been a gift of Edith, sent with her latest letter, with gems in it which were 'as true to the colour of the sea over here as possible'. She put down the tea pot and offered Mr Thornton his cup, trying to will her bracelet not to fall in the meantime. She offered him a small smile as a sign of greeting.

'Sugar?'

'No thank you.'

After giving everyone their cup, she sat down and allowed her shoulders to relax as she held her own warm cup. Her father did the talking and Margaret allowed herself to simply follow the conversation, enjoying the hesitating wise words of her father, and the decided deep voice of Mr Thorton. Besides she didn't know how much Mr Thornton, like so many other men, appreciated highly opinionated educated women, most didn't take too kindly with women mingling in such talks. But she forced herself to be attentive to her surroundings and immediately caught the moment when Mr Thornton was in need of another cup. As she gave him his cup back, once again filled with tea, his thumb and ring finger touched hers briefly. She tried not to pull back in shock, so as not to spill the content of the cup. She hadn't been touched by anyone but her parents in months. It made her stomach uneasy, but she was sure he didn't intend for it to mean anything. He was simply grasping the cup.

Realising she'd stood still for a second too long, she offered him one of Dixon's cacao cakes to not make the moment awkward. The moment slid by without anyone giving notice to it except she herself.

Mr Thornton accepted, and after having handed it to him, she sank back in the couch. She knew not how Mr Thornton had been watching her smile lovingly at her father as she offered him his tea and allowed their hands to touch. She knew not how he had a hard time diverting his eyes from her, or her nimble fingers as she put sugar in her father's tea. She knew not how immensely his need for human touch had grown, upon seeing her touch another being with those slim hands, until the urge had become too overpowering. He had been prepared to apologise for overstepping his boundaries and 'accidentally' touching her, until she pretended nothing had happened with her habitual cold indifference and offered him cake. Her head ached, and she knew she still looked pale from the exhaustion of this afternoon. Somehow Mr Thornton always managed to appear at times she felt the worst. But she had been prepared to be a pleasant hosted, if there had been a silence that called for her intervention, but there were none. So she retreated to her mother's side of the room with some of her sketching material. She just started on the hearth and after a little while she blinked. As she realized she was drawing the current scenario. Her father, slight of figure with soft and waving lines in his face with large eyelids and fine brows, a beauty almost feminine, sitting across Mr Thornton who was tall and massive, with few but firm lines in his face as if carved from marble, with his decided mouth which hid an amazing set of straight beautiful light reflecting teeth, and a straight brow with deep-set earnest eyes which were most intense and intent to penetrate the heart of whatever he was looking at.

Both men were smiling, and Margaret decided that if she had to like anything, it was his smile which so rarely appeared on his usually grave face, and it was in the way they smiled at one another it became evident how they felt towards each other.

Margaret was broken out of her analysis of what was happening in front of her, when she focussed on the discussion the two of them were having about the south.

'It is no boast of mine,' replied Mr. Thornton; 'it is plain matter-of-fact. I won't deny that I am proud of belonging to a town which give birth to such grandeur of conception. I would rather be a man toiling, suffering-nay, failing and successless-here, than lead a dull prosperous life in the old worn grooves of what you call more aristocratic society down in the South, with their slow days of careless ease. One may be clogged with honey and unable to rise and fly.'

Margaret, very homesick and missing the South. Felt as if her former life, all her former acquaintances, and everything she missed, was being called out. 'You are mistaken,' said Margaret, with colour rising to her cheeks as she realized the words had left her mouth and both men were now focussed on her.

'You do not know anything about the South. If there is less adventure or less progress, I suppose I must not say less excitement from the gambling spirit of trade, there is less suffering also. I see men here going about in the streets who look ground down by some pinching sorrow or care-who are not only sufferers but haters. Now, in the South we have our poor, but there is not that terrible expression in their countenances of a sullen sense of injustice which I see here. You do not know the South, Mr Thornton… So please do not speak of it,' she concluded, as she knew all too well her first words had been too strong and being angry with herself for having said so much.

'And may I say you do not know the North?' asked he, with such gentleness in his tone, as he saw that he had really hurt her. Margaret, for the first time since encountering her, seemed less stone faced and more human. The fragility in her gaze as she shook her shoulders touching him.

Margaret almost wanted to weep at his gentle tone.

Her father started talking again and Margaret listened, despite never having had an interest in trade or the North. But she hoped that if she listened enough, she could at least understand why her father seemed so at ease in this town, and why Mr Thornton was who he was.

'Is there necessity for calling it a battle between the two classes?' asked Mr. Hale. 'I know, from your using the term, it is one which gives a true idea of the real state of things to your mind.'

'It is true; and I believe it to be as much a necessity as that prudent wisdom and good conduct are always opposed to, and doing battle with ignorance and improvidence. It is one of the great beauties of our system, that any hard working man may raise himself into the power and position of a master by his own exertions and behaviour. I believe that everyone who rules himself to decency and sobriety of conduct, and attention to his duties, comes over to our ranks; it may not be always as a employer or owner of a firm, but as an over-looker, a cashier, a book-keeper, a clerk, one on the side of authority and order.'

'So you consider all who are unsuccessful in raising themselves in the world, from whatever cause, as your enemies, then, if I under-stand you rightly,' said Margaret having rediscoverd her voice.

Mr Thornton stared at her, surprised that she would ask such critical, yes, almost accusing questions. It annoyed him that he felt as if he was failing a test he hadn't willingly entered. Yet he was intrigued, that she was so interested and involved in men's ethics.

'As their own enemies, certainly,' said he, but in a moment, his straightforward honesty made him feel that his words were but a poor answer. He wished to make her understand, but knew that such a thing was best illustrated by telling them something of his own life; but was it not too personal a subject to speak about to strangers? Still, it was the simple straightforward way of explaining his meaning. Either his immense efforts of the last 16 years would be appreciated and valued, or one who had to climb would never be appreciated by the likes of them, and they already knew him to be a climber. So, putting aside the touch of shyness that brought a momentary flush of colour into his dark cheek, he decided to tell his story.

'I am not speaking without book', he began as he directed his speech to her. 'Sixteen years ago, my father died under very miserable circumstances. I was taken from school, and had to become a man (as well as I could) in a few days. I had such a mother as few are blest with; a woman of strong power, and firm resolve. We went into a small country town, where living was cheaper than in Liverpool, and where I got employment in a draper's shop (a capital place, by the way, for obtaining a knowledge of goods). Our income was but very little as you can imagine, out of which three people had to be kept. My mother managed so that I put by three out of these fifteen shillings regularly. This made the beginning; this taught me self-denial. And from the second I could, I entered the navy since during the war, the navy was in need of healthy young men, and more than willing to pay.

Now that I am able to afford my mother such comforts as her age, rather than her own wish, requires, I thank her silently on each occasion for the early training she gave me. Now when I feel that in my own case it is no good luck, nor merit, nor talent, but simply the habits of life which taught me to despise indulgences not thoroughly earned. I believe that this suffering, which Miss Hale says is impressed on the countenances of the people of Liverpool, is but the natural punishment of dishonestly-enjoyed pleasure, at some former period of their lives. I do not look on self-indulgent, sensual people as worthy of my hatred; I simply look upon them with contempt for their poorness of character.'

Margaret froze, not quite knowing what to say. How to react on these hardships, which she wouldn't wish upon anyone. With pity? His was not a character that welcomed pity. But how high he had climbed, how hard it must have been. It was certainly a great feat, and awe inspiring. But he was telling her this to show that no man who couldn't reach a high enough wage, deserved pity. Which just felt wrong and couldn't possibly be true in her mind.

'But how about those unfortunate souls who had no mother like yours, who were never taught these values? Could everyone reach it, if they didn't possess or weren't taught these values by their family or anyone in their neighbourhood?'

'I suppose these traits come more naturally to some characters than to others. Believe me when I say my mother never had any need for these traits until our situation was such as I just recounted.'

Margaret nodded, admitting defeat on her theory for the time being. Her father however, seemed to share her hesitation to support Thornton's statement.

'But you have had the rudiments of a good education,' remarked Mr. Hale. 'The quick zest with which you are now reading Homer, shows me that you do not come to it as an unknown book; you have read it before, and are only recalling your old knowledge.'

Mr Thornton confirmed this, and the two continued their conversation. Margaret wished say something kind, after her questioning of him, but never did the conversation lend itself to it anymore.

And thus they parted, and as she bowed to him, she noticed his half put out hand, she was sorry she had yet missed another mark tonight. She really could do no good where Mr Thornton was concerned.

'Margaret, I believe you did give Mr Thornton offense when you refused to shake his hand. It is fashion here in trade towns.'

'I'm sorry papa, but to touch someone one is so unacquainted with, I'm not used to it! I believe I'm ill adjusted to the North. I'm sorry. But is that even the way of gentlemen in high society up in the North? I swear I have never heard of a man shaking a woman's hand.'

'Perhaps not in the high society, but as we now know, Mr Thornton doesn't come from the highest levels of society. He may just be doing what he is used to, and perceived you to disrespect the rules he grew up with.'

And just as Margaret felt awful for not having noticed Northern societal rules, Mr Thornton, on his walk home, felt ashamed at having forgotten that gentleman barely shook hands, let alone the hands of women! It just wasn't done. He didn't realise why he hadn't realised. Margaret's taking leave of him was just as she, a woman of her stance of her stance, was supposed to take leave of a gentleman.

She had probably noticed the hand, which really underlined his status as merchant who had rarely spent any time in the presence of the genteel.


	4. A dinner and a dance

Margaret went to bed quite unsettled. Despite the tiredness in her limbs, her mind was racing.

Here she had been, thinking these merchants were quite a detestable kind with detestable ways. And though indeed, her visions and those of Mr Thornton didn't come anywhere near each other, she couldn't help but be surprised at his openness and the simple way in which he spoke of himself.

In his speech throughout the entire night there had been none of the pretence that she had always linked to shop-people. She was especially astounded when Mr Thornton, who to her had just been this one-dimensional force of a man; unyielding and unbending, suddenly started speaking of his mother with such adoration and respect.

She was still very much opposed to his exclamation that anyone could make it should they put their minds to it. But she had to admit that her respect for him had grown significantly, good upbringing or no, to come from where he was, fifteen and indebted to so many, with a father who had killed himself, without a single friend in the world… It was quite remarkable. Though she wasn't sure she liked his views, or the way his presence made her uncomfortable.

Margaret also thought back on Mrs Hale, who hadn't been too well throughout the evening, or the past couple of weeks. She simply couldn't shake the image of her mother on her knees, praying for strength. There were several other signs of something wrong about Mrs Hale. She and Dixon held mysterious consultations in her bedroom, from which Dixon would come out crying and cross, as was her custom when any distress of her mistress called upon her sympathy. There may very well be a good reason to fear her mother was affected by the move. Margaret, before giving herself over to slumber, decided she would continue her quest for a servant with increased vigour.

**x.X.x**

The next morning, she went to visit Bessy Higgins, as she had promised but had been unable to do the previous day.

Her newly made friend wasn't faring an awful lot better than she had done the last few days. She had been plagued with coughing fits, which had fiercely tired her and made her wish for death, just so that her suffering would end. It had been enough, she said, and the doctor had told her it would take nothing short of a miracle for her to survive winter.

There was another girl at home with Bessy, taller and stronger, who was busy at the wash-tub. But she was clumsy, knocking about the furniture in a rough way and making way too much noise for poor Bessy. As the girl hurried about the room clumsily, but without speaking, an idea popped up in Margaret's head.

'Pardon me, but what do you for a living?'

And it was thus, Nicholas Higgins, when he came home and discovered the proud woman who had promised to come, had not only delivered on her promise he hadn't expected her to keep, but had also offered his youngest refined employment, that Margaret earned his respect and unwavering loyalty.

**x.X.x**

After lunch, their house was a flurry once again, but this time, Margaret wasn't the one who needed to work until the point of exhaustion.

No, she was simply to spend the afternoon at home with her hair in papers. And annoyed she was, during this time of sitting about. She wasn't allowed to continue her read of Dante's Inferno, for her mother had replaced it with novels from the last couple of decades, talking of love, and some luckily, of societal problems as well.

When Margaret first noticed this, as she had grasped for her book but found a smaller book on the place where she had left Dante, her mother smiled mischievously.

'I care greatly for your intellect and education, Margaret. But you must spent some time reading material which will stimulate your emotional development as well. It mustn't always be serious topics, sometimes you can think about follies and love as well. You mustn't forget you are not even nineteen, and a single lady at that! With all our trouble and the lack of a second servant, you haven't been able to think about the future while here. Yet it is very important to think on it. When your father dies, who will look out for us? I'm afraid we won't have much money to provide for ourselves. Can it really be you haven't found anyone in London enough to your liking to marry? I can make aunt Shaw take you in again, you know. Because I'm afraid it is quite impossible for you to find a husband here in this town full of merchants. No matter how rich they are, richer even then the richest duke, there is no money in their families. If they lose their business, or their ability to work, they only have the money from their bank account. There is nothing, no grounds nor family money, to fall back on.'

'Oh mama, I have no wish to abandon you and papa. I know how uncertain our future is, and I promise I will do my best to be pleasing to every man I meet who might be suitable for me. I must admit I have never spent much time vying for a husband in London, really. I don't know what I envision a husband to be, but I'm sure I would recognise him should I meet him.'

'But then let us think on it, Margaret. Pray, what would you desire?'

'Oh I don't know. Well, at the very least he would need to be kind and understanding. More than preferably not dumb, I couldn't deal having to spend my life with someone whom I cannot talk to about philosophy, theology and literature. You know I detest shop-people, but I don't want a husband who is idle either, I want purpose in my own life, so it would only be natural for him to have purpose as well.'

'So kind and smart?'

'And he must love his parents! Only one who loves one's parents can understand my love for my parents and my desire to spend time with them. He must also be humble, I don't much care for airs and pride, I've seen too much of that in London. I detest people who think a great deal of themselves and look down on these beneath them.'

'But all of that is very well Margaret, but those are things about how he treats the world around him, not how he will treat you, or what you want out of your relationship.'

'I don't know, I'm partially supposed to marry for money, aren't I? So how much love can I expect? I don't know if I can, therefor I care a lot about how he treats those around him. If he treats those around him with respect and kindness, I will respect him. And respect is a great basis for love, isn't it?'

'It's certainly promising, there needs to be respect.'

'How did you know daddy was the one, mama?'

'Oh, I can hardly recall. Those first days were a blur. He was just such a bright conversationalist. Educated and smart, but very kind. Never looking down on those who couldn't follow his train of thought or usage of intellectual constructs. He was very eloquent and – may I say – very handsome. It made my heart flutter, the way he looked at me, his will to do good, the way in which he brought his opinion… But Margaret, I have learned the hard way that ideas and thinking don't always lead to happy life.'

'See, that is what I want too though, someone who challenges me with his views. Who puts forth opinions, someone I can argue with and have a stimulating conversation with. I assume if he was handsome that would help falling in love a great deal easier.'

'One needn't be handsome to be attractive, Margaret love. But you don't understand that yet, I can see the confusion in your eyes. You talk of love as if it is a chore one has to do, dear girl, but the thing is… Loving isn't a thing you can do, it just happens. Your mind and body will know before you are even aware of it, despite their character and despite their looks. You might even find yourself disagreeing with who you have decided to fall in love with. What you describe may indeed be a good husband, therefor I will only advise you the following. Just make sure they are wealthy enough to provide for you, and assure yourself they are kind and respect you, know whether you can have reasonable conversations with. That's a solid base. All the rest is nice but secondary, just make sure you yourself will be fine for the rest of your life. It will do you no good if you will embark on an eternal search for someone with the exact same views who ticks all your boxes. Not only will someone who is too much like you, not make for a good husband, but finding such a man will also be like finding a needle in a haystack, and there aren't many good men here to begin with.'

Margaret had to laugh, though she didn't quite understand her mother's advice yet.

How could a man be attractive if he wasn't handsome? What was attractive even? How could one feel attracted if there was no rational basis or general rules of aesthetics to fall back on? She thought back on the men in her life. Her father? A subtle beauty during his present age, and quite handsome when he was young. Henry Lennox? Handsome, but too slick. Edith's husband? Dashing. The butler at Harley Street? Plain. No, she couldn't quite figure out how attractiveness could be felt or distinguished. Nor could she understand how her mother would have her start a marriage with only three boxes a husband needed to check.

'Maybe, the Mister that has invited us to dinner will have a friend who is quite like Achilles, good in every way but one. And let us hope that one way will not be his purse', she jested. But then it was time to dress and for the curling papers to come out. Dixon brushed her hair and created an updo with braids and strings of pearls.

Margaret couldn't help but curse the present fashion during the cold winter months. With all the light fabrics and thin layers, she felt an immense need to burry herself in shawls. She missed the dresses with more layers and bodices that reached until her hip from her youth. Luckily she had plenty of dresses from her time in London which managed to combine the practical and the beautiful. As for today she had chosen a blue dress with bell sleeves and embellishments on top, but with long sleeves and draped fabric which cascaded downwards from her bust- and back region. At least the sleeves and the extra amount of heavy fabric would ensure that her arms and back wouldn't get cold. She placed the annoying bracelet Edith had given her on her wrist again, and even allowed Dixon to drape a necklace around her throat.

Her mother dressed in the older style, choosing a dark purple dress of glossy fabric which made her pale complexion look intended instead of accidental.

And thus they departed towards Mr Reeves.

**x.X.x**

The assembly was quite large, to Margaret's shock. Existing of the little family of Mr Reeves, a pregnant Mrs Reeves, and their little one; a Mr Watson; Mr Latimer, Mrs Latimer and Miss Ann Latimer; Mr Slickson; Mr Ball; Mr, Mrs Hallagher Mr Hallagher jr. and Miss Hallagher; and Mr Thornton and his sister.

The married men quickly decided to throw their daughters, all of similar age except the little miss Elizabeth Reeves, together. The wives as well, fell into a comfortable talk amongst themselves, mostly talking about Mrs Reeves baby, and their previous experiences being pregnant, which were of course, no topic for the young ladies, who did their best not to eavesdrop. They talked about fashion, music, and all silliness Margaret was used to discussing, but never had any desire to. Until Fanny Thornton pointed out that 'Had miss Hale not lived in London?', at which Margaret had to verify and thus answer the stream of questions coming her way about the city, the buildings, her opinion the best parks, fashion, which music pieces were in style. At the last one Margaret told them her knowledge simply had to be outdated, since fashion in London moved very quickly, and she had already been gone for three months.

Yet they ushered her to the piano, despite her proclaiming not to be a good player. She wasn't, she was everything but a natural. Edith could rouse from one of her slumbers and start playing a heavenly melody, whilst she had to take two minutes before her fingers were adjusted to the movement again. Whether that was a result of her lack of playing, or her fingers simply not naturally being made for the piano, she didn't know. But she did know that she had spent an awful lot of time playing until she got the notes of the pieces she learned right, she had a hard time remembering keys, while she never had a hard time remembering concept or names she read. She believed her muscle memory to not be as well developed as her auditive memory or her visual memory.

But she played the latest music she had learned, and immediately the girls gushed they hadn't heard it before, except Miss Latimer, who exclaimed having heard it somewhere nearer to London whilst she was travelling with her family and had gone to a concert. But in a private room, she had indeed never heard it before.

But the girls weren't the only ones who took notices, some men too, gazed at the dark haired novelty at the piano.

'Who is that girl, Hale, is she yours?'

'Yes, that is my daughter I mentioned before, Margaret.' Mr Thornton wasn't the only one eying her intensely, Mr Ball was also focussed on the young unmarried southern girl.

Margaret looked up upon hearing her name being mentioned, and looked at her father questioningly, but with open loving eyes, so different from the gaze with which she had greeted the guests here tonight. Mr Thornton wondered how one could be so loving towards one, yet so closed off and impossibly cool towards everyone else. Maybe it was the fashion in London that one couldn't show kindness or have an open expression. He'd often heard Londoners were always acting, always portraying a version of themselves they wanted the world to see, just to protect themselves.

He detested these kinds of falsehoods, yet he knew he himself always played the role of a hard man. He was a hard man, but both he and his mother knew him to have a soft heart which cared for his employees and family, but he too knew showing fear or trust was naïve in business relationships.

Mr Hale shook his head and Margaret lowered hers again, some delightful tight curls framing her face. Her hair had been redone, whispy bangs now obscuring a part of her forehead and making the vibrant colour of her eyes and lips, and the lily whiteness of her cheeks, only more noticeable.

They resumed talking, but every so often, his eyes were drawn again to the slim fingers brushing the keys, and he suddenly felt the wish within himself to be that very piano – or to touch the keys she had touched, in order to feel a measure of closeness. No! Wake up man!

The servant called them to dinner and Margaret finished her current song, and that was the end of it.

Dinner, for Mr Thornton, offered the routine topics of weather, trade, economics and talk of future ventures. For Margaret, dinner proved to be yet another occasion where her southern views were confronted with the very different northern ones.

The men were discussing business, but in a refreshing turn of event, the conversation of the women picked up their topics, sometimes they discussed their opinions amongst the women, because they all had an opinion on what their husbands did as wives and daughters were bound to have, but they were all stuck in the entrapment of their gender as their voice could advice but no one was obliged to listen.

Mr Slickson talked about sending a very small convoy North, to pick up Mongol trade. The toll was quite high, but the road was shorter, but this was not what bothered Margaret. What bothered her was the fact that it was winter, and no sea was as dangerous – or so it seemed to be from the information she'd collected – and full of ice. And if the ships survived the venture despite the frozen sea, it was very likely men would die because of the cold.

It seemed such a waste, and the association between Slickson and the cruel Captain Frederick had served under was instant.

'But surely it cannot be right to just throw away human life like that. It's already a pity if they die, but to send men out at sea, knowing some will die while they don't have to cannot be advisable?' Margaret said in utter astonishment.

'In true commerce, as in true preaching or true fighting, it is necessary to admit the idea of occasional voluntary loss. A merchant is bound to meet fearlessly any form of distress, poverty or labour, which may come upon him. Acceptance of risk is crucial to ethical economic practice.'

Mr Thornton replied, having overheard Margaret who was seated almost across of him. He immediately saw her mouth move in protest.

'Though I agree a risk must be calculated, not taken simply because it is the cheap thing to do. I have much respect for human life, as should we all. We need to be grateful of our sailors, without them we would be out of business, and good experienced hands are hard to find sometimes. I've lost many a good sailor to the navy, the sea or the start of their own companies. I can already name ten men who aren't of any particular rank on my ship whose loss would be felt by their crew members should they die', Mr Thornton replied.

'Well there we disagree Thornton, I see trade as an interesting business. It is winter, our ventures will not be as numerous, I would like to expand my fleet and therefor I need money. If I offer the men I send more money, they want to go on that venture, for they too could use the money. It is astounding what a man will do for money, they will gladly accept the risk. And since I know some will die, it will be no problem for me to pay those who do survive more. It is no increase of spending for me, the added money I give them, is simply the money I don't have to spend on the dead ones.'

He grinned proudly, as if impressed by the genius of his own reasoning. Margaret's stomach twisted, but she saw Mr Thornton's disgust as well.

Mr Slickson was indeed the vile creature she took merchants to be, aimed at garnering as much money as he could, no matter the cost, never thinking of the people, and feeling high and mighty because of his wealth, having never learned humbleness.

Compared to him, it became clear that though her and mr Thornton disagreed, he was merely trying to be practical. Though Margaret didn't know how one could ever be fine with accepting human loss.

After that Mrs Reeves decided that there had been enough business talk, and everyone was to talk of more enjoyable topics.

Dinner was long, with there being no less than six courses, with two main dishes during each course, to see which one was liked best.

Afterward, Margaret had been fully prepared to separate from the men, with the women going to a separate drawing room so that the men could resume their talk and smoke cigars.

And they did, but as they were walking to the drawing room, Mrs Reeves already assured the young ladies that after she put little Elizabeth to bed, there would be dancing and all enjoyments that could be had in a party as big as this one, a size they rarely entertained.

**x.X.x**

'Well well, Miss Hale, you are quite a frank one I must tell you', Miss Latimer laughed as she went to sit down next to a cat to stroke its fur.

'I believe I don't quite follow.'

'Oh, just an hour ago, when you so bluntly put that you disapproved of some of the men's practices? It really was quite bold and forthright, though I quite agreed with you. My, Mr Slickson didn't care but Mr Thornton's face was quite the thing. As if he couldn't grasp how someone could not understand the loss of human life. But poor dear, you've probably never seen business where loss of human life is so common and unavoidable, they don't understand your naïveté.'

'Is it naïve to wish for no human life to be sacrificed for no reason?'

'Oh no, that is quite understandable', said Fanny Thornton as she tried to fix the pleads of her shawl in a fashionable way, ' but you spoke as if no venture was ever worth a human life. My brother was quite right when he said there was always a risk, a risk that couldn't be prevented. If no one was ever allowed to die, then there would never be any commerce, for every long journey by boat holds a risk: be it storms, pirates or illness. You can never ascertain that everyone will make the trip alive, you can try and limit the risk of course, which is what Mr Slickson won't do, but most aren't like him. Especially not John, he is quite the careful company owner. No one can disagree on the fact that he treats his employees with as much respect as they deserve.'

The other women protested, saying their husbands were quite respectful as well.

'But at least you managed to get Mr Thornton's attention. That's a feat for any woman', Miss Latimer whispered conspiratorial, so that the married women couldn't hear.

'Oh, not this again', laughed Fanny Thornton.

'Why of course, you do know your brother is the only single business owner with a company a similar size to ours.'

Margaret assumed that meant that he was the only bachelor remaining of their social class. Here in the north, it appeared the class system was created on basis of income and the size of business. There had to be many other owners of companies and businesses, just like there had to be some gentry, aristocracy, politicians and respected lawyers. But apparently, all those were considered undesirable in the eyes of Miss Anne Latimer. Margaret wondered why.

'Yes, I am quite aware, but Anne, rest assured, the second my brother decides he wants a wife, he'll pick you. There is not a girl as beautiful as you, I do apologise, Miss Hale and Miss Hallagher, but it is true, I cannot lie.'

Miss Thornton was right that Ann Latimer was quite the beauty. She was tall and slim, but her figure was soft and womanly. Her hair a golden blonde, her eyebrows beautifully curved, and her eyes a perfect shade of blue. The Venus of Botticelli couldn't be more perfect. Her face had none of the haughtiness Margaret's face was naturally full of, and her features were vibrant and harmonious unlike Miss Hallagher's pretty but long face which possessed no roundness in the cheeks, or strength of jaw. Even her teeth were perfectly straight, just like those of Mr Thornton's, while Margaret's bottom row was crooked.

'It's fine, I don't much care for him, oh I'm sorry Fanny but it is true, you know who I have my heart set on', Miss Hallagher smiled.

'It's a young lawyer who works quite closely with Mr Watson, my fiancé. There is no doubt he will soon take over the firm once his boss retires, since his boss's sons don't want it. One has joined the clergy and the other started a printing shop', Miss Thornton said, noticing Margaret's confusion.

'Oh', she nodded. She decided there was no need for her to verify she had no desire for Mr Thornton. Here were all these girls who came from similar backgrounds and were of similar wealth. It would be obvious a southern girl in her circumstances was not going to engage herself with a merchant of Liverpool.

At this moment, Mrs Reeves returned and fetched the women to come to their biggest salon on the ground floor. It had been heated by the fireplace and the furniture had been removed. The piano had also been relocated. Now a couple of servants had gathered near the piano, having been trained to play dance music should the occasion require it.

**x.X.x**

It was Miss Thornton who broke the ice by deciding to dance with her fiancé, as the only unmarried couple no one would accuse of any hidden motifs. Mr and Mrs Reeves both chose someone to get people dancing. Margaret was at first happy to just sit by her mother, who was elated to see people dance. Even a blush had risen on her cheeks because of the wine and warmth of the room.

'Oh Margaret dear, how lovely. It has been such a long time since I heard joyful dance music and saw young people dance. Please join them, it would so delight me.'

'Oh mama, and leave you alone? And who would there be to dance with? I have barely been introduced to these men. No I will sit here and enjoy with you, my dear mama.'

Mr Thornton, had overheard, but had never had any real dance training. He could sympathise with a mother's request, but it collided with his pride as he didn't want to make a fool of himself. He watched his sister dance and jump.

Yes, he had practiced many a time with her before, as she was learning how to dance and had been in need of a male partner. But dancing in a room in their own home with his sister was quite different from this.

Mr Ball had no qualms however, seeing a young beautiful woman left on the side, and fetched her immediately. And in the end, Mr Hallagher asked Miss Latimer and Mr Thornton was forced by his honour to take on Miss Hallagher, as he couldn't let the daughter and sister of his business partners sit on the side as the only unmarried woman while he, as the only unmarried man, stayed put.

Then it came time to switch partners, and Margaret and Mr Thornton landed together as a slower song with less exchanging of the partners came on.

Margaret recognized the song instantly, a blush rising to her cheeks. Now was the moment she realized her current dress hadn't asked for gloves, and this was the time she noticed none of the men present were wearing gloves either. Their hands could touch, their arms would touch as they circled each other. Quite naughty of Mrs Reeves to include this one!

Mr Thornton was oblivious to the turmoil, but was glad he was now close to Miss Hale, and able to appreciate her moving figure to the fullest.

'Mr Thornton, I believe I must offer my apology', Margaret said gently as they stood close by. Mr Thornton frowned, but the music forced Margaret to walk around his person before she could continue.

'I believe I gave you offense yesterday. I didn't notice your hand until I had bowed', she explained.

The two stepped apart and went to stand in lines across each other. The men walked around the other men to their left, and the women did the same. After some zigzagging, and changes, they were reunited again.

'About that, I believe it is I who has to apologize. A gentleman should never offer his hand to a lady, or expect her to take it.'

At that, they both stuck up their hands against each other as they started walking circles. Margaret and Mr Thornton both had to smile at the irony of the conversation, though both their hearts skipped a beat because of the rare skin to skin contact with someone who wasn't family.

'I believe we are sometimes not aware of how different something even as simple as a greeting or a leave-taking can be, depending on the region.'

'Yes, North and South are quite different, but I hope you and your family are adjusting without too many problems?'

Margaret smiled. 'Only just.'

* * *

Brownie points for those who recognized that their dance scene is inspired by the dance Elizabeth and Mr Darcy shared.

eagraves9: Thank you for your comment 3

domineofspades: Thank you for commenting!

sari18: Yes it was quite similar to the book, I enjoy having some good chunks similar, but I very much delight in making up new pieces as well, as I hope this chapter shows. I hope you will enjoy the divergences as well :)


	5. A Taboo Broken

Summary:

_Another snowy day brings a dinner invitation. The evening ends with Margaret earning a friend at the cost of a part of her innocence._

* * *

'I hope my ladies had a fun evening?' Mr Hale asked as they entered the carriage they'd rented for the evening.

'It was lovely, dear. I must confess I was surprised by how civil and polite everyone was. I'm still not used to their pronunciation though. It is very different from the south and sounds quite unpolished. The way they pronounced their k's and t's is quite shocking. I didn't know how a simple word like "water" could sound so differently when pronounced by someone from the north.'

'Oh yes, it does take some getting used to. They have quite a unique vocabulary as well. I believe it's a result of the lower classes mingling with the Irish and foreign traders. These local men are very proud of their social rank and their status as Englishmen, but I believe their accent is the result of their grandparents growing up in a lower social circle. They've been raised with the accent, and they hide it well. But as we come from the south we recognise the deviancies they themselves might have become accustomed to in the region. Perhaps they don't even know their pronunciation isn't the standard English one.'

Mrs Hale shook her head, but wasn't too bothered by it, she had been too happy to converse with other educated ladies of her own age for the first time in years.

'And Margaret, did you enjoy the evening? I believe you were quite shocked to hear yet another strange northern viewpoint.'

'Are you talking about Mr Slickson? Yes, I believe his point of view to be quite unethical. I still think it is wrong to risk any man's life, but I believe there is a big difference between the stance of for example Mr Thornton versus that of Mr Slickson. Slickson talked of his employees as if they were simple utensils to him, at least Mr Thornton admitted their worth and use as individuals.'

'Yes, I believe Mr Thornton to have a very organized and hierarchical view of the world, but perhaps because of his own past, and perhaps because out of genuine respect for human kind, he has a more humane view concerning his employees.'

'He still agrees to losing some.'

'Perhaps because he has no choice, as I believe he was trying to tell you. Both Mr Thornton and Mr Slickson were right when they said there could be no trade without risk. You are not blind to reality Margaret, you know England has always needed trade. We have always had the need to import products. Any long distance travel, especially by boat, contains risk, be it robbery, piracy, or a storm. It is simply impossible to remove these risks, but we simply have to engage in trade. I do believe Mr Thornton when he says he likes to limit risk, but cannot guarantee there not to be any. You shouldn't create a villain where there is none: Mr Thornton honestly wants the best for his employees, he is simply very honest about not being able to remove all risks, and these men working for him are aware of the risks and enter it willingly. The fact that there is still a risk is sad, but Mr Thornton is not to be blamed for this. You cannot hate all tradesmen simply because of the possibility of risks they cannot remove, it would be as if hating all mothers because some, even despite offering the best protection they can, still end up with wounded, ill or dead children. I admire your goodness, Margaret, but sometimes you forget that not all problems can be solved, and blaming people for perfectly understandable viewpoints and working methods won't make these problems go away.'

'It's just difficult to wrap my head around, father. Accepting that some men will die, feels like giving up on them.'

'But what didn't seem difficult was playing that piano, was it Margaret? You played quite lovely dear', Mrs Hale said as she laid her thin hand on top of Margaret's.

'I'm relieved that we only moved about a month ago. Had I been here any longer, I would have definitely been too out of practice to play that well', Margaret admitted, reminiscing the piano they'd left behind in Helstone.

'I quite miss hearing music', Mrs Hale sighed. 'Tonight reminded me of that, with you playing the piano at first and then the dancing. Oh you were such a lovely sight, my sweet Margaret! Your feet are ever so light. It was lovely to see. Especially with Mr Thornton, how a man of such size can still be so elegant in his moves is beyond me. It astonishes me, however, that you two seemed to get on so well during the dance. I thought you two didn't part on a good note last night.'

'We didn't, but we apologized to one another tonight', Margaret admitted. 'I didn't want there to be any bad blood between me and your friend, papa.'

'You're very considerate dear, I do so appreciate it. I'm glad the two of you are getting along better, despite your differences.'

'You and that Mr Ball got along quite nicely tonight, didn't you Margaret? I never heard you argue with him, not even once! I must admit he is quite dashing with his blond cherubim curls, don't you think dear? He must be quite young too, despite being co-owner of a company.'

'He is twenty-six. His father was the original co-owner but I'm afraid he died last year. '

Margaret froze. Losing a parent seemed like a truly dreadful thing. She daren't even imagine the pain Mr Ball must have felt. Yet he as a man, was lucky. If she were to lose her father, there would be nothing to inherit. She was a woman, her only option was to move in with other family members.

'Margaret, what did you think?'

'Hm? Oh yes, he is handsome I suppose.' Truth be told his Adonis looks made him resemble Mr Lennox, and that was not something she liked at the moment, or had ever liked. She knew, objectively, that he was handsome. His looks were the dreams of many girls, she couldn't start counting the amount of romances her cousin had read about men with angelic golden hair and blue eyes, 'Archangel Michael reborn' said some descriptions in the bolder books.

What was it her mother had said before? Was this what she meant when she had talked about? She had talked about a man not needing good looks to be attractive, but now Margaret found a man with good looks simply not handsome in her own eyes. Was this the attraction thing? Did she lack attraction to these two objectively handsome men?

'I suppose, my dear, you seem completely unconvinced. At least he appeared to be very agreeable over dinner.'

'Oh yes, he was kind and good humoured.'

Her mother raised her eyebrows.

'Oh mama, I simply don't know quite what to say. Do you want me to be gone from our home already?'

''I'm afraid I'm not quite catching on? Is there something I'm not aware of, my dears?' Mr Hale asked while looking between the two women.

'It is simply that it would put me at ease, knowing our Margaret is loved and taken care of. She's nearing twenty now', Mrs Hale explained.

'I turn nineteen in the new year mama!'

**x.X.x**

The new day brought a new announcement from Mr Hale. 'My dears, we are invited to dinner with the Gallaghers this evening.'

As it was yet another day where they had to look presentable, Margaret only managed to sneak out of the house for a brief hour. She rushed to the park and took deep breathes of freezing crisp air, and walked slowly through the freshly fallen snow to hear it cracking beneath her boots. Another gift was sent her way when suddenly in the midst of her walk, heaven's gates opened and fresh thick snowflakes lousily fell down from the sky. Margaret couldn't describe the sound of falling snow, but she simply recognized the special silence. She closed her eyes. She hadn't seen anyone near her the last couple of minutes so she stuck out her tongue, waiting for a flake to land on her tongue. It did, and melted immediately. She giggled.

Oh, if life could only be simple like this forever. If only she could enjoy life's simplicity with someone; Practically everyone would think her odd for sure, with her great sense of justice on one hand and her childish joy for snow and nature on the other hand. She bent down and removed her glove. Pressing down her hand in the snow, she revelled at the cold sting and the burning sensation in her hand.

This was winter, the type of winter she loved and had feared she wouldn't get up North. She remained quiet for a few more minutes before she decided she had to head home.

Mr Thornton had seen it all from a distance, not having intended to invade her privacy, but simply having been unable to stop watching once he had spotted her during his own morning walk.

She was, as ever, a marvel in her blue coat with her hair hidden in a hat and her chin buried in her shawl. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the empress who entered each room with such grace and dignity, now turning around in the snow while catching snowflakes with her little pink tongue.

He remembered her, withdrawn, never going beyond what was deemed necessary conversation, always on the fence to defend the poor. She had seemed larger than life then: tall, proud and unapproachable.

Now an astonished feeling crawled upon him. She had never been tall, she couldn't be over 5ft 4, nor could she be over twenty years of age.

Today she was no high and mighty empress looking down on him, today she was a princess, wanting happiness. He doubted not that her face would quickly sour again when she was confronted with someone who went against her moral code. He could just imagine her turning into a vengeful empress in a matter of seconds, condemning the person in question to the unbearable fate of being disliked by her.

Would such a woman ever have him?

**x.X.x**

He hadn't expected to see Miss Hale again so soon. When he entered Mr Ball's house he had expected a crowd; a mix of investors, wives and daughters, some respected professions, and two aristocrats who had decided to dabble in trade companies. He had not expected to see Margaret Hale, hidden away in a sitting room reserved for the women who were present. The room was a flurry of pastel and white fabrics, crawling children and laughing faces. It was a sharp contrast to the dark cigar room with its emerald wallpaper filled with darkly dressed men. The only person who wasn't in on the dress code appeared to be Mr Hale, dressed in light coloured trousers, a white ruffled shirt, a red vest and a burgundy tailcoat.

The men from Liverpool were practical in their dark suits: they rarely stained and showed sobriety . The fabrics of their clothing was heavy and mostly without embellishment. The only things which weren't black on Mr Thornton himself were his shirt and black satin vest with purple embroidery.

In an ultimate case of perfect timing, the topics, which were usually limited to regional business and the news of crews or family members harboured in other places, were now of a more intellectual level. He had no doubt that Mr Hale was responsible for leading the conversation away from business and towards philosophy. Mr Ball's circle was quite educated, almost everyone came of good stock. He was glade he had started on Hume with Mr Hale. Mr Thornton had learned about Latin and the classics in school, but modern philosophy had been new to him. Despite being new to the topic, he found himself easily joining the conversation, his class with Mr Hale really helping him.

It took an hour still before dinner was finally announced. Mr Thornton would have been lying had he said he didn't hope Margaret would be seated near him. As such, he couldn't help the feeling of disappointment when he was seated between other Mrs Gallagher and Miss Latimer. Margaret sat on the other end of the table, near the younger Mr Gallagher and Mr Ball and her parents.

As he admired her from afar, he was glad his sister wasn't joining them this evening. He was certain the soft lavender lamé dress with a lower waistline Margaret was wearing, was one of those new fashionable models his sister would love.

'I've heard nothing but mentions of snow, ice and freezing rivers from my correspondents.'

'Yes, there won't be any thaw in the near future I'm afraid.'

'My goods have been stuck in a port for a week now. The letters of my customers have started flooding in. I'm starting to get agitated truth be told, the longer a cargo is on the way, the more likelier it is for thieves to steal a part. Besides, I don't like my customers to breathe down my neck.'

'I'm having similar problems.'

'So do I.'

'I was planning on paying my employees with the money from the trip. I will have to delay their payment, normally I pay both them and my harbour workers from the money of the excursions, instead of from the profits I get out of the workshops making shawls, scarves and gloves with a part of my bought fabrics.'

A large chunk of the table agreed the income would be welcome, because of the festive season many of their customers ordered larger amounts. It was big money, and it was more than welcome after the rough storms of autumn had wreaked havoc in the harbour. Mr Thornton himself had been forced to invest a good deal in repairs of his ships and new sails. He would very much like it if the money of his newly purchased goods came in before the new year.

While Mr Thornton was discussing business, Margaret was being introduced to Sir Edward Aldridge, a baronet of twenty seven years of age. He was not the first baronet Margaret had met, having previously met one Alexander Sharpe of Allerdale Hall of Crimson Peak in London a couple of years prior, and a certain Sir Elliot when she went to Bath some five years ago.

Despite them not having met before, it quickly became clear that they had a lot of shared acquaintances. For once, Margaret didn't have to explain London, she could talk about London with this man. Her mother asked him questions as well, to see how the London Margaret talked about compared to his vision. The young Gallaghers listened with large ears to the stories about a society they had been brought up to envy. And as Sir Aldridge managed to make Margaret, who had laughed so little the previous day, smile so much, an idea started shaping in the head of Miss Gallagher that both she herself, Miss Thornton and Miss Hale could create a very happy spring season full of wedding bliss.

Margaret herself was completely unaware of this thought, just as she was unaware of Mr Thornton admiring her smile for the second time today, and once again wishing he could share a happy moment with her. If only there was a way to get her in his company more often. But what was there that bound them, except his being tutored by Mr Hale?

An idea started taking shape in his head. They were new here, they had little connections. This was only the second time the ladies of the house had been out and in touch with other people who weren't servants. He could ask his mother and sister to form a connection, so the women could at least have two friends in the city.

A young one for Miss Hale, and an older one for Mrs Hale, though he doubted the women would form a natural attachment. Mrs Hale was weak, soft and emotional, where his mother was hard and had a wall around her heart. Miss Hale was intelligent and educated, while his sister was excitable and shallow, matter of fact it seemed as if Miss Hale and his mother and Fanny and Mrs Hale were more equally matched in temperament than the other way around!

But then a vision formed in his head of his mother and Margaret Hale, sitting across each other, both with their heads stuck up proud, both with their reserve and dignity and full belief of their own capabilities, both judging the other… They either recognized their similarities and bonded, or would detest each other just because of their likeness. No, it was better he did not place the young Miss Hale right across of his mother without two other beings in the room to take away the awkwardness.

**x.X.x**

After dinner, the women left and the men were remained behind. It was then that Mr Kearney announced that he had received Mr Gallagher's permission to marry the Gallagher girl. Mr Gallagher sr. himself was absent that evening, which was a good thing. Mr Thornton hoped no father or bride would ever have to hear what was being said that moment.

After everyone offered their words of congratulations, someone _had_ to deliver the following comment.

'And do you know how to ground the corn?'

Mr Kearney had the decency to feign shock.

'Of course I do, I'm twenty-five! I've been about the block at least three times.'

'Poor lass, it'll be like two bricks trying to swim.'

'No! I meant… Well, I didn't mean three times! I meant… you know, I've been with three ladies.'

As the men laughed, they were oblivious to what went on beyond the door.

'No need to blush like that man, it is only natural. We've all been there. Our ladies deserve a little bit of experience even, don't you think?'

'I believe that they don't deserve the potential diseases that might come with it. Surely, we've all heard of the stories of these so called venereal diseases. Wartime is only a couple of years removed from us, we've heard about the outbreaks', Mr Thornton said to no one in particular. Mr Hale remained awkwardly silent as well.

'One simply has to look for a lady in the right place, and pay attention to the signs before going at it. These are valid concerns but dear John, surely you understand it is impossible to refrain from everything? You must have- oh. Well, perfectly respectable choice too.'

Mr Thornton's and Mr Hale's faces said more than enough. The men dropped the topic.

Miss Gallagher had forgotten her handbag underneath her chair, and had been waiting with Margaret to retrieve it at the right moment when there was a lull in the conversation.

But it seemed they had arrived at exactly the wrong moment.

'Oh dear no', Miss Gallagher breathed. All confrontation with the marital life came like a shock to unmarried women of their class. Hearing her beloved was going to ask her for marriage, and then hearing he had been with three women in a marital way, was too much contrasting and confusion for the seventeen year old girl to take. The only thing she understood, was that there were currently three women who could have potentially have a baby from the one who was to be her husband. The reference to intercourse had flown over both their heads, but Mr Kearney's reply had been all too clear.

And then Mr Thornton's reply. Disease! From being together with a woman. And he had had three, and the other men potentially even more, except for Mr Hale and Mr Thornton!

Margaret supported her new friend as she sank through her knees, her breathing pace increasing and becoming irregular.

'No, Miss Gallagher, Mary, please, breathe more calmly.'

Her friend buried her face in her hands.

'Oh dear, oh dear.' The first sob bubbled out of her throat, the next rapidly following as her breathing remained quick.

'Shh dear, shh, calm down. Let's get away from this door, won't we?'

She tried to lift Miss Gallagher, but she was simply too heavy for Margaret. Yet if she called for a servant, the men would undoubtedly hear her.

'Mary, calm down. Mary, please. They might hear us. Let's head somewhere quiet where we can process the news, you don't want them to find out we overheard, do you? No Mary don't get too worried, please!'

As the sobs increased in volume, one man who had detached himself from the conversation took notice of the sounds behind the door, and quietly excused himself.

Mr Thornton had not been prepared to come face to face with a sobbing girl lying in Margaret's arms not five feet away from the door. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, begging him not to alert the other men in the room.

'Can I help, Miss Hale?'

'If you could fetch a servant? I didn't want to call for one as I was afraid you might hear and come out to have a look. It's a delicate situation.'

Mr Thornton nodded wordlessly, although he wondered how the girl came to have a nervous attack in the hallway, of all places. They were supposed to be in the drawing room, or in another private room. Why would they be here, having an emotional moment in such an open place?

Then it clicked.

As he retrieved the servant and came back, all three of them helped Miss Gallagher upright.

'Should we fetch Mrs Gallagher?' Margaret asked.

'No, I don't want mama to know. She will forbid me to marry him. Not that I still want to- or maybe I do? I don't know. Am I being ridiculous? Do all men really do this and are we simply kept unaware? It is useless to cry over something if it isn't special. If all women marry men who have done this, then I should not shed tears like this. Yet I feel slighted.' She looked at Margaret through teary eyes, while supporting heavily on the female servant.

'I- I can't offer advice, I have no knowledge', Margaret admitted helplessly, looking at the mess of a girl with sorrowful eyes.

'I shouldn't pry, and it is not my place, but given that not a single woman will be able to provide you with an answer, I hope I may offer one if that gives you peace of mind?'

Both the maid, Margaret, Miss Gallagher and Mr Thornton were incredibly awkward in the ensuing silence, knowing that they were about to break one of the biggest conversational taboos in existence.

But seeing as it had been breached the moment they overheard the men's conversation, and given that the new information couldn't possibly make matters worse and was given to comfort Miss Gallagher who had overheard something without any context, Miss Gallagher understood the rarity of the circumstances which lead Mr Thornton to offering to break the taboo, and nodded. In the seconds of ensuing silence, all parties felt an unspoken pact forming between the people present: they were not to talk of it to any other living being, for this was knowledge they weren't supposed to possess, and he wasn't supposed to tell. He was breaking the gentleman secret by telling them this.

'I'm afraid, Miss Gallagher, that ninety percent of all men who enter marriage, have already had contact with women in a way that went beyond polite conversation. It is simply a thing men don't tend to inform their wives of.' For the mental health of both women he refrained upon remarking that Mr Kearney's number of women was far below average and that many men kept up their visits after their marriage. The less the ladies knew, the better.

'But I heard someone mention diseases! What kind of diseases? Can I get ill?'

Mr Thornton stood there awkwardly. He had not expected Miss Gallagher to be so bold as to ask yet another question, let alone one of this nature. He simply couldn't imagine a polite way of explaining it to her, or calming her, without being more specific than a woman ever ought to hear. And then there was Margaret, standing there so calmly, with her big eyes. What would she think of him for knowing about it, and then telling proper ladies about it? They were supposed to be the moral guardians of their homes, beacons of virtue, and he was giving them this dirty information which they should never have become aware of in the first place.

It appeared he could never do good around Miss Hale.

'It is highly unlikely, there are signs, which would have been evident by now. Please, Miss Gallagher, if you were considering marriage before, I encourage you to not let your answer be altered by what you heard tonight. Mr Kearney is still a good and respectable man by all standards, including by the standards of men.' That was the most he could say of the whole thing without saying too much.

Tears were still silently rolling over her cheeks.

'Thank you, Mr Thornton, for you honesty and truthfulness. I shall not forget your service. Rest assured I shan't speak of it.'

She looked at Margaret, who nodded, a silent conversation passing between the two girls before they bid him farewell and retreated with the servant.

That was the last he saw of Margaret Hale until everyone said their goodbye's, they didn't exchange any more words. His mind couldn't stop thinking it over. What must she think? What had they done? At the end of the evening, the engagement of Miss Gallagher and Mr Kearney was announced, though she was far from the blushing fiancée his sister had been, and he doubted not that the crisis of a few hours prior had something to do with it. Would it blow over? Or would the dynamic of the two be forever altered with her knowledge?

Would Margaret think of men differently? She had always been so pristine and above everything. She couldn't even accept a realistic stance on the loss of employees, no doubt she would add this to her list of the failures of mankind. He had admitted to most men entering sexual relationships before marriage to assure Miss Gallagher she wasn't marrying an immoral monster, and it had been the truth. But had she and Margaret understood from the way he critiqued it that he hadn't engaged in anything yet? Were they still listening when Mr Watson almost spelled out that he hadn't engaged in anything? Or had Miss Gallagher already been crying by then? For some reason he ached and burned for Margaret to know that he hadn't engaged in anything. He despaired to have her approval, even though he had probably ruined his chances by admitting to have knowledge of such things.

**x.X.x**

Margaret went home exhausted and confused. Comforting Mary had been difficult, especially since it concerned a topic they couldn't and shouldn't talk about. It had been difficult to comfort her without being able to discuss the very thing that caused the misery. In the end they had both sat next to each other, sometimes hugging, but mostly just sitting silently, until Mary had settled her inner turmoil, at least on a rational level. She had decided what she was going to do with the situation, but it was clear her emotions were still unstable from the shocking information.

'Margaret, I know it is a lot to ask of you, since we have only known each other for two days, but I fear fate has destined you to be my confidante since we heard the information together. I need to ask your absolute secrecy.'

After Margaret had nodded, Mary started talking again.

'The situation is such that we cannot avoid the topic, since it does affect me most personally. I know men and women are not equals, and although I had never thought of it, but I suppose somewhere in my mind I had assumed we entered the marriage as equals in that regard. Therefore hearing what I heard today was a shock, though apparently it is common practice. As it is common practice I feel I cannot judge Mr Kearney for it, it seemed as if no one in that room except Mr Thornton was opposed to the idea. I still am shocked though, and I do feel less excited to marry him now, but I may not let it decide my answer. If we can believe Mr Thornton, and he is not one to lie, Mr Kearney is a good man. I cannot judge his character since I cannot compare him to other men, so I will have to trust the judgement of others.'

She seemed most unhappy about it, but Margaret understood her reasoning. 'But you are not certain whether you want to be with him?'

'Of course I want to be with him. I love him, I just…' She shook her shoulders. Margaret just allowed her new friend to be conflicted. In the end she accepted his proposal and that was the end of it. Margaret couldn't help her inner turmoil, she could only offer a hug after Mary made her decision known.

The knowledge pressed on her, as did the lack of answers. Were men really doing this? Were they allowed this by their guardians and male society or was it something they hid from their entire families, just like they did from their wives? Were women still supposed to marry men once they knew they engaged in immoral deeds? Or were they not immoral but commonplace, and was it only the ignorance on the wife's part that had been taken away now? If so, that meant almost all women married men who had done things which women had been strictly forbidden to do. It was a topic so forbidden it was not even discussed until the day before a woman's marriage.

Margaret knew that she was the child of her parents, but she didn't know how that came about, not that she had ever been particularly curious. She only knew Edith had been taken away by aunt Shaw the day before her wedding, and when Edith returned, pale faced, she only disclosed that Mrs Shaw had informed her of her wifely duties and children. That was when Margaret learned that there was information about the topic, and that that information would at one point, when it became necessary, be disclosed to her. The next thing she heard of the marital bed was when Edith announced that she had finally gotten pregnant and was expecting a baby, this had been the news that had arrived with the post just two days prior.

Margaret's thoughts involuntarily went back to Mr Thornton. He had not, he had remained like the women. Why, if like he said almost all men did it, did he choose not to? Once she started thinking on it, she couldn't stop the thoughts from forming, nor could she push them away. Did he not want to? For women it was no choice, it was not done nor discussed. But if for men it was an option, a popular one, why not?

'Margaret dear, you appear quite flushed, you are not getting a fever, are you? The weather is particularly unkind and you've been out and about it in for more than an hour twice now?'

'No mama, it is nothing.'

She screamed in her head at the thoughts to stop. She didn't want them. She didn't want to think of it. She shouldn't think of it. It was of no importance to her. On the day before her wedding she would learn what she needed, and then she would do what was called this 'wifely duty'. She should definitely not wonder about what certain men did or did not do. A lady shouldn't think of it. And she didn't want to think of it.

Margaret had always been able to learn about something when she discovered it. Never had her curiosity been laid to rest by something else than knowledge. Now she found herself confronted with a head full of questions she couldn't, shouldn't and didn't want to answer.

No! She wouldn't answer them. She would stop thinking about the topic. 

**x.X.x**

_'Our ladies deserve a little bit of experience even, don't you think?'_

Margaret's eyes shot open. , The memory attacked her mind right as she was drifting off in her bed.

Experience for what? It must have something to do with making children.

Stop Margaret Hale!

_'Two bricks trying to swim.'_

Was experience needed to make children? The experience apparently contained a risk some were not willing to take.

Margaret Hale, you quit that line of though right now! These were not the thoughts of a lady.

Tainted, she felt properly tainted with the knowledge.

She had no say in getting this information, and now it would never leave her head again.

Out of desperation she lit a candle and grasped for the first philosophy book she could find, hoping it would cleanse her mind with its intellectual content and that it would force her brain to think of something else.

* * *

**NOTES**

I'm unsure about whether this twist was a good idea, I did have my reasons but I don't know if it works.

**1) the scouser accent: **I know the video is a bit cringy but this details a couple of the specifics of the scouser accent(Liverpool): watch?v=R_C4PDSfQJAbr /

br /  
**2) Did you spot the references?** Yes the Mr Elliot is Anne's father from Persuasion. The Alexander Sharpe of Allerdale Hall is the grandfather of Thomas and Lucille Sharpe of de movie Crimson /

**3)Thornton's age and backstory:**

This story takes place at the end of the regency period, at around the end of 1824, going on 1825. The reasoning behind it is this: both Frederic and Mr Thornton have been in the navy, the English navy was great, but after the Napoleonic Wars, there weren't as many wars at sea anymore, so I believe that the smaller sailors looked for new professions. Mr Thornton is about thirty-one when we meet him in Gaskell's North and South, I think building your own company takes at least a couple of years of experience, and then building it until the height it is now, I believe Thornton must have had his own business for about eight years, and must have worked on building contacts and experience for at least two years. In my timeline Mr Thornton's father died when he just turned fifteen, then he worked on repaying the debt for two years whilst they lived in very poor circumstances. When he was just seventeen he decided to enlist in the navy around the later period of the Napoleontic Wars and the War of 1812.  
He quickly rose in ranks and worked hard, but after 1815 all main wars at sea had been fought, and Mr Thornton decided to move on to his next venture, now having had experience at sea. So this makes him 21 when he gets back to England. With the help of local investors, and friends in high places (captains he had served under, aristocrats he had saved) he started slowly building his /  
For me, having him fall back on his acquaintances made during the war, serves as a shortcut because under normal circumstances, like in the original North and South, he would have definitely have to have had a longer period learning and growing in other businesses, I believe in her period he must have started working for mill owner's from the second he paid his debt, which could have lasted between two-three years, which means he would have worked 13 years to grow to the spot where he is now: a wealthy renowned manufacturer, yet one who still has little fixed capital. If Thornton had a lot of savings, he wouldn't have had to give up his mill just because of a couple of slower months, this tells me he has a habit of constantly reinvesting his money in his company, hoping it will better the company, instead of saving his extra earnings for times when business is /  
It is my belief that even with constant reinvestments he would have had enough capital in his bank if his company had been big and going strong for over eight years, this tells me Thornton's business rose in rank quickly, because of his investments, but it also means he never took the time to let his company just 'be'. Once it got to a certain level, he always expanded instead of keeping his company like that for a couple of years to gather money without expanding. In my eyes that is the only way his business could be so big while he hadn't owned it for over ten years, and that is also the reason why his business toppled so fast, whilst the others endured. So even in NorthSouth, he hasn't owned his business for a long time. So there you have my personal views on how Thornton manages his business in both NorthSouth and in my story. In my story with the slight change of timeline, he is just shy of his thirty-second birthday. So yes, we will see both Margaret and Thornton's birthday in this fic!

**4)History of sexuality and the societal context of the story (additional and unnecessary to read if you don't wish to, but I recommend at least reading the last part starting from the underlined words)**

About notions of romance in the 18th century. Gaskell herself, in some part, was influenced by her friend Charlotte Bronte, and some argue that some parts of North&South are strongly influenced by it as Gaskell also sets out that her main characters aren't conventionally attractive, Margaret is also occupied by her own problems before forming an attachment to Mr Thornton, both Margaret and Jane refuse a marriage offer that disagrees with their moral stance, both only agree to marriage once their lovers have been disgraced, and both women end up as wealthy heiresses who take control of their lives.  
Yet Gaskell is also strongly influenced by the literary tradition of her time, as everyone knows, women ruled novels and gave women happy endings. In fiction written by men, the most important relationship a woman could have, was that with her father: a family love, superseding the relationship between mother and daughter(the mother was often dead) and this relationship forced the young daughter in a motherly nurturing role because of her sense of duty. In not a single book, a woman went against the desires of her father. Sexuality was portrayed as a source of power in these novels, and it was not only this way in novels, in real life romance was also full of power.  
The restricted social life of women is expressed in N&S by Margaret insisting on still having some kind of 'charitable' visits, even when it stops being part of the framework of her father's job. The female visit is one of the few ways women of her class could navigate the limited social space they had. One of the very few ways they could exercise autonomy was by abstinence: either by abstaining from marriage, or by abstaining from the marital bed. We know that Margaret gives little thought to marriage in the beginning of the book. But she must be very aware of the mentalities and the implications of marriage.

This gives a nice extra meaning to the North and South miniseries when Margaret claims Thornton wishes to possess her. Not only is it a jab towards his profession, but in that time marriage indeed meant a surrender of power from both Margaret, and of Margaret's father. And Margaret surrounded by contemporary novels which expressed the holiness of the relationship between a father and a daughter, Margaret, having grown up with loving parents yet with ideas that the sexual aspect of marriage is something to be endured, must not be too keen on the prospect of marriage because with it, she gives up her parents whom she knows are ailing (going against her sense of duty) and potentially giving up the large amount of freedom she had under her father(she was allowed quite a lot of freedom for a woman of her stance, and she doesn't know how Thornton regulates the women of his family).

But let's give credit where credit is due:

Gaskell, Bronte and even Austen in an earlier period defy classic female qualities male authors praised. In male works the heroines are passive and In Marmion Clare is 'lovely, and gentle, and distress'd'. Scott's heroines are characterized by blushes, sighs, and swoon. Matilda of Rokeby is described as having: 'a soft and pensive grace', 'a downcast eye', signifying modesty and submission: 'The mild expression spoke a mind | In duty firm, composed, resign'd'. Jane Eyre and Margaret are described as having daring judging eyes, Margaret has a proud 'soft femine defiance' in the way she lifts her chin, they judge their future lovers. Though both Margaret and Jane endure hardship because of their strong characters: Jane casts herself out and away from the loving arms of Rochester because she cares deeply for herself and God, and Margaret endures constant criticism of society because of her relationship with the workers, she also doesn't try to save her reputation when she's seen with Frederic because her morale forbids her. Jane Austen defies this by punishing Jane Bennett for her classic submissive femininity almost leads to her losing her beloved whilst it is Elizabeth with her assertive behaviour and intelligence, despite a lack of female accomplishments, gets her ideal and transformed husband? Marianne's vibrancy is also awarded with not one but two men who fall for her, and Anne Elliot also only gets the man once she stops sulking and starts running after him. Jane Eyre, Elizabeth Bennet and Margaret Hale are all three admired by their suitors for their defiance of classic female behaviour, and they are unique because they enter an engagement on their terms, in a position of certain power (especially Jane with Mr Rochester being blind and thus dependant, and Margaret by being having the financial upperhand).

But now, why is this essential? Why do these books propagate such things? We now think it was just a sign of Regency or Victorian prudishness, but the reason might be more surprising. There was a baby boom in the postwar period around 1815. Children were a financial burden, and the leading cause of death amongst women, and the more children a woman had, the bigger the chance she died in childbirth. There was only little contraception, and people didn't engage in more creative ways of sexual pleasure than penetration (at least not that is recorded). Since there was little anticonception there were only two ways to limit the amount of children: firstly societal control: poor or lower middle class people only married in their late twenties (so less years to make babies) and rich women married young and were supposed to have more babies since that was their function. But the amount still dropped because society instilled an idea that the marital bed was only meant for making children, and the idea of the marital bed was mostly remained silent about. It is definitely true that ignorance is bliss, from the second one knows something, they start thinking on it, and the idea becomes more realistic in their head. So the less people know of sex, the less they are likely to want it.

So those who have endured my history lesson see it coming: it is important that Margaret stops feeling the obligation towards her parents which takes precedence above love OR her parents tell her she should put marriage above them. And by placing Margaret and Mary in the situation where the social control mechanisms were absent and they accidentally got information about sexual relationships, I deliberately caused Margaret to think on it. Throughout the upcoming chapters you can be assured this will influence the pace at which Margaret develops from child-woman to a woman ready to marry.  
North & South was a romance novel from the latter part of the 19th century, I do intend on making this an early 19th century story by making Mrs Hale the embodiment of societal expectations "Margaret must marry" and though Mrs Hale can't help the amount of times they meet possible husbands, she can help the situation by encouraging Margaret to think of men as possible husbands.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk, I have sources, of course:  
\- " 'At Once Above - Beneath Her Sex': The Heroine in Regency Verse Romance " by Caroline Franklin in The Modern Language Review: Vol. 84, No. 2 (Apr., 1989).  
\- "Reproductive Sexuality" by Hera Cook in Journal of Social History: Vol. 40, No. 4 (Summer, 2007)  
\- The Female Visitor and the Marriage of Classes in Gaskell's North and South by Dorice Williams Elliott in Nineteenth-Century Literature: Vol. 49, No. 1 (Jun., 1994) (THIS ARTICLE WILL BE DISCUSSED IN MORE DETAIL LATER ON IN MY STORY)

**5) Thanks for the encouraging comments they do mean a lot to me:** to sari18 and the Anon

If by any chance you are interested in one or more articles I allude to, you can message me and I could send them, but only until September.  
Much love,  
Lynn


	6. A Multitude of Conversations

"Dear Edith,

Much has happened since your last letter. I am pleased to say we have finally settled and have been introduced to society. I admit, the people here are not as colourful as your friends in Corfu, but they are open and honest, which is more than enough. I've learned a couple of things of society here: some tradesmen do live up to the cliches. They're shoppy, cunning and power hungry with a big ego. Luckily, those are few and far between. Most do remember where they come from and are simply proud of their accomplishments. The women here have a true fascination with anything and everything southern. The women in the street ask about the fabrics of my dress and the patterns of my shawl, and the women I meet during dinners are excited by every story I tell them about London. They were simply ecstatic when I played the last popular pieces I heard in London, and you know I am not the best musician.

I shall firstly answer your questions:  
\- It is indeed colder here, and the winds are quite strong. Luckily we have a good amount of hearths in our house. It has finally snowed, which doesn't help the temperature. But as you know, I quite enjoy snow, so I bear the cold.  
\- Society isn't of the same level. They always talk of the same things: trade, economics and the weather. It's a lot less gay, the people here are very grave and focussed on work. Though that may very well be due to the fact that in London we met a lot of military people and people without profession. They are less inclined to discuss their occupations, especially in the presence of women, but many women are involved in business around here.  
\- Yes, they sound very different. Not exactly Irish, nor Scottish. To be honest it sound quite flat and lazy, the lower classes take no effort to pronounce their words, and they transform quite a lot of words as well. The higher classes conceal it well, but we southerners hear the difference from Oxford English.  
-I was quite harsh in my judgement of Mr Thornton in my previous letter. I was still quite unaccustomed to the northern ways and traditions. I believe we have a better understanding now. He is not bad, though I must confess I don't quite like him either.

Liverpool doesn't seem to be without charm; as it is quite lovely when it has snowed, and the people greet you on the street as you pass by. It is also not without excitement: some of the company owners we are acquainted with disagree quite a lot. I've also been in the company of some young ladies, they are very much busy with finding husbands, which sometimes leads to amusing situations and talks. But rest assured, my sweetest cousin, no one holds a candle to you.

But on the topic of you: I wish you and Captain Lennox my sincerest congratulations. I hope the new year will bring good health for you and the baby. I simply cannot wait to see the child, it will without a doubt be the most adorable infant on the planet.

I am equally glad to hear of your stories in Corfu, I can just about imagine what the island looks like. Your tales bring me real delight every time a letter arrives. Do keep me updated.

PS: Send aunt Shaw and your husband my regards, I love and miss them both, and think of them.

Yours truly,

Margaret"

**X.x.X**

'Can I get ye a bevvy?' Bessy Higgins asked when Margaret visited some days after the awkward dinner.

'A what?'

'S'thing to drink.'

'Yes, thank you.'

Bessy hadn't improved, but her health hadn't deteriorated further. She remained pessimistic about getting better. But it was clear Bessy didn't wish to talk about herself.

Instead she found great pleasure in listening to Margaret as she described Helstone and London, with Bessy much preferring the description of Helstone. Just like Henry, she called it an idyllic place with Eden-like qualities. But suddenly, Margaret felt the need to correct Bessy. The poor girl would never travel, and now she thought that every town and city was better than Liverpool or Milton, where she had previously worked and had become ill.

Margaret started talking about the heavy labour, the lack of healthcare and society, the monotonous life. These had been things she herself had always forgotten or tried to ignore about Helstone, and indeed, though Helstone held a special spot in her heart, she didn't believe it to be perfect like she used to.

Then Bessy directed the conversation elsewhere, somewhere less comfortable.

'But now, I know Mr Hallagher, the young one, learns things from yo father. Have yo happened to meet any o' t' business owners? To us, they are just those who pay us 'n offer work. What 're they like as persons?'

'I have met them. A bunch of them even. Let's see who I can recall. There was a dinner at Mr Reeves house last week. Mr Slickson was there, and Mr Ball and all of the Gallaghers, Mr Thornton was there too… Oh yes and a Mr Watson too. Let's see, a day later, we were invited to a dinner at the Gallagher house. There I met a Mr Kearney and Sir Edward Aldridge… There were some other new people too, but I didn't get to know them or talk with them.'

'Whew, ye've been talking to all o' the big Scouse comp'ny owners we got. Are they kind in person, or still unkind?'

'Mr Slickson is… Well..'

'Thought as much, nasty sly fox that one.'

'The Reeves are a charming family.'

'Ye, cause he never pays his employees enough. But they all get fed nuff, even got a doctor on board. Slickson's poor workers aren't as lucky.'

'The Gallagher's are very smart and kind. Polite as well. Miss Galagher got engaged to Mr Kearney last week, he's a lawyer.'

'Kearney? What Kearney?' Bessy asked, her attitude suddenly changing.

'I don't know, is there not only one?'

'The young one or the old one?'

'I heard the old one died.'

'Is it a convenient match?'

'Out of love. Why, Bessy?'

'Hoo brought a friend of mine in a bad position some ten years ago, when hoo was but a lass. Girl worked at his house, got fired instantly. Never mind, I shouldn't talk of such things with a lady, it ain't right. Excuse me miss, they are engaged. Men always treat their brides better than they do their servants. Let us talk of other men. You met a sir? How was he?'

The words shocked Margaret. But she pushed the thoughts away. It had taken her days to get the silly questions out of her head, she wasn't going to dwell on it again. It was settled, they were to be wed.

'Handsome and kind. A true gentleman. A baronet worthy of his title, and very much a man of station.'

'Is he old?'

'No, quite young. Only twenty-six.'

'Ooh, and?'

'And what?'

'Is he unmarried?'

'Yes, but I don't see where you are going with this.'

'Well with you meeting all these fancy people and being so bonnie yerself, you wouldn't do bad with one of them.'

'Me with a baronet?'

'Are ye not a lady?'

'I'm neither rich nor of any real rank.'

'Yer a southron lady, London society and all that fancy stuff. Hard to come by in these regions, I bet he's met every girl with money there is to find in the city. Besides, if one's already got so much money, why should the other have it as well?'

'I enjoy his company, but to say I want to marry him?'

'Have ye dwelt on it?'

'No, I haven't.'

'Do you no want to marry him?'

'Well, I- It's not like I have something against him. I just don't feel anything for him either.'

'How does he look?'

'Brown hair with curls, green eyes, small sideburns. Strong cheekbones, decided chin, slender brow, healthy of complexion. Slender of frame, but very tall. Well dressed.'

'Sounds very dashing to me.'

'He is.'

'And Mr Ball? He's single too.'

'I- I-'

'Oh come on, humour me. I thought he was the handsomest of the owners.'

'So does my mother', Margaret admitted with a smile.

'I danced with him.'

'Did you?' Bessy smiled.

'He's a good dancer. And a good conversationalist.'

'Yes, he cares more about us, so did his father. Not that Gallagher is bad, but it is known that Ball is more busy with his employees and Gallagher is more occupied with the transactions and customers.'

'And Mr Thornton? Haven't heard anything of him yet.'

Margaret lifted her shoulders.

'I don't know.'

'I've never seen him before, what's he like?'

'I hardly know. His face reflects the determination of his mind. He seems very rational and pragmatic, as if he has no feeling at all. He has such a detached way of thinking. He's honest and without pretence though. I can give him that.'

'How does he look?'

'Thick black hair, blue eyes, heavy of brow, deep set eyes, a very decided strong jaw. He's tall and broad shouldered.'

'Ye don't like him, do ye miss? I see it in the way your face is conflicted when you talk of him, like you don't know what to make of him. '

'I cannot agree with his views, Bessy.'

'You talked about views? Of what?'

'His business, business in general, economics, the differences between the north and the south.'

'I thought women weren't able to join that kind of conversation? That's nice, someone who lets a woman talk about important matter. I rather clash with my father when he talks about laying down work with the other employees. Hoo doesn't let me talk though, he and his friends will be here and I will be excluded as if I can have no real opinion. He's a good man, if he's honest, handsome and treats yo this way.'

' I know plenty of men who do talk about intellectual topics with women. It is also the first time I met any of them, except Mr Thornton. Therefor it would be weird to immediately discuss such heavy topics. Maybe all the men I met would let me talk about it.'

Yet she knew it wasn't thus. Slickson was not one to let a woman tell him what to do. No, he had revelled in explaining to her just how different his view was from hers. He didn't mind her worry and disgust in the slightest. The others had just remained silent. Every time Margaret had spoken out, only Mr Thornton had answered her. And when her father let Margaret join the conversation at home, Mr Thornton took her answers, however naïve and unknowing they were, seriously. Even her first conversation with Mr Thornton had been of a very unique nature. She had never engaged in empty conversation with him. But she decided to ignore that. Admitting to that would encourage Bessy.

'I'm happy for ye. Then it is perhaps simply the men of my rank who look down upon women.'

'Are ye geggin in lass? Don't let hoo bother ye with questions yo don't want to answer.'* Nicholas Higgins said as he entered, having overheard Bessy's questions.

Shortly after the arrival of Mr Higgins, Margaret went home.

**X.x.X**

'Margaret dear, come here please.' Dixon held open the door to her mother's drawing room when Margaret was passing through the hall.

As Margaret entered, Dixon went to stand closer to her mistress. 'Margaret, when your father went to London for Edith's wedding, he bought something. I had been planning on giving it to you on Christmas Eve, but it appears my strength has quite left me. I had plenty of time alone to work on it, but I tire so quickly as of late. I'm terribly sorry my dear, but I thought it better to give it to you now, so that you could modify it to the latest fashion, as I don't know what has been fashionable the last couple of years.'

As Mrs Hale finished talking, she lifted a scarf from her lap, revealing a smooth yellow satin underneath, the exact same colour of Helstone roses.

'Oh mama, it is beautiful!'

Margaret took the fabric, which had already been trimmed to her size. It already had sleeves, a hem and a neckline. It would only need a waist and detailing.

'I thought you would like it, and the colour suits your complexion so well.' Margaret bent and gave her mother a hug. 'I love you, mama.'

'And I love you dear. Oh, and this I had to tell: Mrs and Miss Thornton are coming over for tea tomorrow, and Miss Gallagher asked us to join their Christmas celebrations.'

**X.x.X**

Mr. Thornton had had some difficulty in working up his mother to the desired point of civility. She did not often make calls; and when she did, it was because she felt she had the duty to do so. Her son had given her a carriage; but she refused to let him keep horses for it; they were hired for the solemn occasions, when she paid morning or evening visits.

She had repeatedly questioned her son why his wish that she should call on the Hales was so strong. She would have been thankful if it had not; for, as she said, 'she saw no use in making up friendships and intimacies with all the teachers and masters in Milton; why, he would be wanting her to call on Fanny's dancing-master's wife, the next thing!'

'And so I would, mother, if Mr. Mason and his wife were in a strange new place without many friends, like the Hales.'

'Oh! you need not speak so hastily. I am going to-morrow. I only wanted to understand why you want it so much.'

'If you are going to-morrow, I shall order horses.'

'Nonsense, John. One would think you were made of money.'

'Not quite, yet. But about the horses I'm determined. The last time you were out in a cab, you came home with a headache from the jolting.'

'I never complained of it, I'm sure.'

'No. My mother is not given to complaints,' said he, a little proudly. 'But so much the more I have to watch over you. Now as for Fanny there, a little hardship would do her good.'

'She is not made of the same stuff as you are, John. She could not bear it.' Mrs. Thornton was silent after this. She had an unconscious contempt for a weak character; and Fanny was weak in the very points in which her mother and brother were strong. Just as she thought of her, her daughter appeared.

'Fanny dear I shall have horses to the carriage to-day, to go and call on these Hales. Should not you go and see nurse? It's in the same direction, and she's always so glad to see you. You could go on there while I am at Mrs. Hale's.'

'Oh! mamma, it's such a long way, and I am so tired.'

'With what?' asked Mrs. Thornton, her brow slightly contracting.

'I don't know-the weather, I think', Fanny replied. But moreover she had heard Miss Hale and Mrs Gallagher had been thick as thieves during the dinner which she herself had skipped, feigning some illness because she hadn't wished to go. Yet, despite that she herself had decided not to go, she felt jealous that one of her friends had gotten along so well with the new worldly Miss Hale. She felt both robbed of a friend by Miss Hale, and simultaneously wished she had been the one Miss Hale had been so close with. But John simply instructed Fanny to go and that was the end of it, headache or not.

'Mother! I need hardly say, that if there is any little thing that could serve Mrs. Hale as an invalid, you will offer it, I'm sure', John pleaded right before they left.

'If I can find it out, I will. But I have never been ill myself, so I am not much up to invalids' fancies.'

**X.x.X**

Mr. Thornton had had some difficulty in working up his mother to the desired point of civility. She did not often make calls; and when she did, it was because she felt she had the duty to do so. Her son had given her a carriage; but she refused to let him keep horses for it; they were hired for the solemn occasions, when she paid morning or evening visits.

She had repeatedly questioned her son why his wish that she should call on the Hales was so strong. She would have been thankful if it had not; for, as she said, 'she saw no use in making up friendships and intimacies with all the teachers and masters in Liverpool; why, he would be wanting her to call on Fanny's dancing-master's wife, the next thing!'

'And so I would, mother, if Mr. Mason and his wife were in a strange new place without many friends, like the Hales.'

'Oh! you need not speak so hastily. I am going to-morrow. I only wanted to understand why you want it so much.'

'If you are going to-morrow, I shall order horses.'

'Nonsense, John. One would think you were made of money.'

'Not quite, yet. But about the horses I'm determined. The last time you were out in a cab, you came home with a headache from the jolting.'

'I never complained of it, I'm sure.'

'No. My mother is not given to complaints,' said he, a little proudly. 'But so much the more I have to watch over you. Now as for Fanny there, a little hardship would do her good.'

'She is not made of the same stuff as you are, John. She could not bear it.' Mrs. Thornton was silent after this. She had an unconscious contempt for a weak character; and Fanny was weak in the very points in which her mother and brother were strong. Just as she thought of her, her daughter appeared.

'Fanny dear I shall have horses to the carriage to-day, to go and call on these Hales. Should not you go and see nurse? It's in the same direction, and she's always so glad to see you. You could go on there while I am at Mrs. Hale's.'

'Oh! mamma, it's such a long way, and I am so tired.'

'With what?' asked Mrs. Thornton, her brow slightly contracting.

'I don't know-the weather, I think', Fanny replied. But moreover she had heard Miss Hale and Mrs Gallagher had been thick as thieves during the dinner which she herself had skipped, feigning some illness because she hadn't wished to go. Yet, despite that she herself had decided not to go, she felt jealous that one of her friends had gotten along so well with the new worldly Miss Hale. She felt both robbed of a friend by Miss Hale, and simultaneously wished she had been the one Miss Hale had been so close with. But John simply instructed Fanny to go and that was the end of it, headache or not.

'Mother! I need hardly say, that if there is any little thing that could serve Mrs. Hale as an invalid, you will offer it, I'm sure', John pleaded right before they left.

'If I can find it out, I will. But I have never been ill myself, so I am not much up to invalids' fancies.'

And Mrs Thornton thought Mrs Hale fancied herself ill much like Fanny did, until she arrived at the house. Her guesses were both confirmed and deconstructed when she entered the drawing room with Fanny. The drawing room was small, they were not rich indeed, nor remarkable. Their interior was as ordinary and pointlessly decorated with knick-knacks and filled with more cushions than people, as most households were. For a poor family, that must take a long time to dust.

But the Mrs Hale indeed looked frail and pained, as she sat in her seat with her double knitting. A sturdy sensible thing to make, Mrs Thornton thought approvingly. Her gaze then went to the dark haired woman with shoulders which were proudly pushed backwards. Her chin was lifted. Margaret desperately tried to look composed and comfortable as the stout woman in black entered the room with authority, as she bid them to sit, as she would ask anyone down the south, Mrs Thornton, like her son had feared, felt a natural dislike for the girl with the same natural authority and dignified look she herself had. Margaret was busy embroidering a small piece of cambric for a dress for Edith's expected baby, which was deemed useless by Mrs Thornton's pragmatic mind.

Mrs Thornton uttered all the stereotyped commonplaces that most people can find to say with their senses blindfolded. Mrs. Hale was making rather more exertion in her answers, Mrs Hale had a great admiration for the expensive antique lace Mrs Thornton was wearing, and thus Mrs Thornton and her family became worthy of something more than the languid exertion to be agreeable to a visitor, by which Mrs Hale's efforts at conversation would have been otherwise bounded because her lack of illness lead her to pragmatically choose what she spent her energy on.

'Well Miss Hale, I must confess I am surprised that I don't see a piano,' said Fanny.

'I am fond of hearing good music; I cannot play very well myself; and papa and mamma don't care much about it; so we sold our old piano when we came here, as it was quite heavy to transport.'

'Oh, but your play was so lovely at the Reeves' dinner party.'

'I must confess I was lucky. When I lived with my aunt, I played frequently, until the latest melodies were memorized. At home in Helstone I filled many hours playing. My fingers were still trained. I'm no natural, I have to train a lot to play a decent melody. I assume I shall soon lose the necessary control in my fingers needed to play.' Margaret's answer pained her, she had been so occupied with the dramatic adjustment moving brought forth, that she had quietly accepted all chances without pondering on the long term effects. Margaret had never been very accomplished to begin with. She could draw, she could paint, her piano skills were passable, she was an alright dancer, but she couldn't sing, nor did she posses some of the usual set of accomplishments. She was overly schooled, which men mostly disliked, and she preferred commoners above gentry, which was the most heinous of her crimes.

'I wonder how you can exist without one. It almost seems to me a necessity of life.'

It was just a piano. Margaret's necessity was healthy parents, a roof over her head, a comfortable bed. A piano wouldn't even make the top 20.

As Fanny was simply Fanny, she yet again brought the topic back to London, and complained that she hadn't yet gone there. As Margaret knew it had no use to downtalk the greatness of a place someone wanted to visit, she simply humoured her with the response she guessed Fanny wished to hear. 'But surely, it is a very easy journey to London.'

'Yes; but somehow,' said Fanny, lowering her voice, 'mamma has never been to London herself, and can't understand my longing. She is very proud of Liverpool; dirty, rainy place, as I feel it to be. I believe she admires it the more for those very qualities.'

'If it has been Mrs. Thornton's home for some years, I can well understand her loving it,' said Margaret, in her clear bell-like voice.

'What are you saying about me, Miss Hale? May I inquire?'

Margaret had not the words ready for an answer to this question, which took her a little by surprise, so Miss Thornton replied: 'Oh, mamma! we are only trying to account for your being so fond of Liverpool.'

'Thank you,' said Mrs. Thornton. 'I do not feel that my very natural liking for the place where I was born and brought up, requires any reason.'

Margaret was vexed. As Fanny had put it, it did seem as if they had been impertinently discussing Mrs. Thornton's feelings; but she also rose up against that lady's manner of showing that she was offended. She wanted to defend herself, but at the same time she didn't simply want to say something to someone who seemed to want to misinterpret her

Mrs. Thornton went on after a moment's pause: 'Do you know anything of Liverpool, Miss Hale? Have you seen any of our docks? Our magnificent warehouses?'

'No!' said Margaret. 'I have not seen anything of that description as yet. Then she felt that, by concealing her utter indifference to all such places, she was hardly speaking with truth; so she went on: 'I dare say, papa would have taken me before now if I had cared. But I really do not find much pleasure in going over.' She could not have insulted Mrs Thornton, who knew all too well that the reason for the city's prosperity lay in these places and therefore loved those locations, even if they were no usual places for women of their ranks.

'They are very curious places,' said Mrs. Hale, 'but there is so much noise and dirt always. I remember once going in a lilac silk to see candles made, and my gown was utterly ruined.'

'Very probably,' said Mrs. Thornton, in a short displeased manner, insulted that Mrs Hale understood so little of the trade and the workshops that made this city big that she compared their industries to candle making. 'I merely thought, that as strangers newly come to reside  
in a town which has risen to eminence in the country, from the character and progress of its peculiar business, you might have cared to visit some of the places where it is carried on. If Miss Hale changes her mind and condescends to be curious as to the people who make Liverpool big, I can only say I shall be glad to procure her admission to print-works, or incoming boats and trade in our warehouses.'

'I am so glad you don't like stinky fish and rough fabrics and tobacco, and all those kind of things,' said Fanny, in a half-whisper, as she rose to accompany her mother, who was taking leave of Mrs. Hale with rustling dignity.

'I think I should like to know all about them, if I were you,' replied Margaret quietly. She didn't feel that it was proper, as a sister, to talk badly about the business that made their family great again. Margaret rose as well. Feeling vexed that Mrs Thornton seemed to have decided that Margaret looked down on Liverpool and with that, every acquaintance she had already made, including her son.

Margaret was no lover of trade, she'd always made that clear. But she'd been wanting to understand it, as this was her city now, and Mrs Thornton vexed her so with always assuming to know what Margaret thought. Mrs Thornton probably assumed Margaret wouldn't take her up on the offer because she was a southern lady who was afraid of these places.

'Thank you for the offer Mrs Thornton. I don't care particularly for trade as a business, but what I do care about is the city I am living in. I wish to understand it, and maybe, by understanding the business, its people. I would happily take you up on that offer if you are ever so kind.'

Mrs Thornton's eyebrows rose in surprise, and that made it all worthwhile. Margaret found herself almost looking forward to it, just to show the proud woman wrong. She did care, it was time she saw what her friend Mr Higgins did, and how Mr Thornton and the other people she had met, conducted their business.

'Very well, Miss Hale.'

Back in the carriage, Mrs Thornton thought on the events of the afternoon. Just ten minutes before leaving, she had been prepared to share her judgement about the Hale ladies with her daughter. The mother had seemed properly ill, and kind and quiet enough, and she was prepared to warn her daughter about Miss Hale. But then the girl had suddenly straightened up and taken Mrs Thornton up on her offer. She hadn't thought she would.

Miss Hale had been everything she expected from the south: proud, occupied with useless pastimes, and disgusted by labour. She had assumed she had no care for the real people who had to dirty their hands. She had defied that expectation. Just like she had shown spine and confidence in the face of Mrs Thornton, who knew all too well grown men cowered and hesitated when approached by her. If Margaret was intimidated by her airs and speech, she didn't show it. She still felt a strong dislike for the proud girl, but at the very least, her character demanded a very, very small amount of respect.

"Who are these Hales and why does John want us to befriend them so desperately?" She kept turning the question round and round in her head. She had expected the answer to be clear once she got to know them, but she was left wanting. Maybe meeting Mr Hale would clarify the business. Maybe John indeed felt a certain love for his teacher, and simply wanted his mother to be kind to the family of the man he had formed a friendship with. She knew she felt better once Fanny built friendships and John built contacts. Perhaps John had asked them for a similar reason.

* * *

**NOTES**

A calmer shorter chapter after the whirlwind that was the last one, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

**1)*** To geg in: to join in on something when you aren't invited: Nicholas' way of saying Bessy is trying to pry in business which isn't hers

**2) **Here is the dress Margaret will start to make. This one is from 1826. We're nearing Christmas 1824 in my story so it's a bit of an anachronism, but not by much. I've tried to make clear in the previous chapters that Margaret's lower waist and rounder sleeves were somewhat of a novelty. By 1824 the with of the bust had already become wider, and the skirts bigger as well. Margaret's daytime dress is quite average and normal, but her dinner dresses are quite new since she only recently acquired 'adult' ones. Most women of Margaret's capital don't have that many new dresses made, meaning most of her dresses will be between two-four years old and thus a 'normal' fashion in Liverpool. (Her dresses can't be much older since Margaret is just about nineteen, as women got their periods later than we do now, I estimate she would've kept growing until her 14th-15th birthday. I myself still fit in my dresses and shirts from when I was 12 while I'm 22 now, but I know most women don't)br /  
. /digital/collection/p15324coll12/id/3704

**3) **To Kfkylie and the two guests: Thank you so much for commenting, it does mean a lot to me that people enjoy reading my story


	7. Yule Tide

Plans were made, and everything collided on the same day. She was set to visit Bessy on the 22nd of December, then Margaret was asked whether the 22nd in the early afternoon was suitable to be guided around in the warehouse by Mrs Thornton herself. As the lady had taken it upon herself to guide her around, whilst it was clear that Mrs Thornton didn't enjoy company all too much, Margaret felt obliged to accept. She had just sent word with a courier that she was available, when her father informed her that Mr Ball, during his session on Seneca, had insisted they came to his pre-Christmas dinner which he threw for his friends, since Christmas was a family affair for Mr Ball. Mrs Hale exclaimed she was still recovering from the previous dinners and was still bothered by a cold. Margaret decided that it would do her mother good if she saw a doctor, if only to confirm whether her mother was feeling rather than being ill.

**x.X.x**

Bessy had deteriorated in the four days Margaret hadn't seen her. And in the hour she was with her, she talked of nothing but the Bible and heaven. Margaret prayed the girl would stay strong, so that she might see her nineteenth birthday, but Bessy was pessimistic about it. Margaret was gravely worried, but then Mr Higgins came in and asked Bessy to cease talking of heaven. He was already grieving for his daughter, and a life filled with worry about money and the loss of his loved ones, had made the idea of a God laughable.

Margaret, after listening to Mr Higgins talking about some kind of protest, took her leave to prepare for the excursion with Mrs Thornton.

**x.X.x. **

Mrs Thornton arrived on exactly the hour she'd told Margaret she'd come. Margaret was taken with her in a carriage towards the harbour district. She'd been able to walk freely in Liverpool like she'd always done in Helstone, but she knew better than to visit the harbour district by herself.

The poorest of poor lived there, especially in the south of Liverpool. The closer they got, the darker the population seemed to become. Margaret knew Liverpool had been the biggest slave harbour in all of England until the abolishment in '07, but she'd never though more on it. For some reason, she had expected that everything connected to slavery and the continent of Africa had simply disappeared. She'd heard the names they were called on the street; "dark Jacks". She'd heard Nicholas Higgins complain to Boucher that the lowly women of the city should stop sleeping with these dark men, as they and their children were the cheapest labour one could find, and therefore had an higher employment rate than native Englishmen.

Many worked as domestic servants for sea captains, wealthy merchants and members of British aristocracy. They were often employed in ship building companies like that of Robert Napier. From what Margaret had gathered during dinner parties in London, the growth of Liverpool was due to its prosperity derived from profits gained via the enslavement of Africans. At least 26 of Liverpool's mayors were, or had been, slave merchants or close relatives of them between the start of the previous century and 1820. She wondered if they were really as primitive and odd as people claimed. They couldn't be, for here they walked and interacted amongst the English people, the only thing setting them apart being their skin colour and their height. She'd read De Las Casas, she'd read De Montaigne and she'd read the Bible. Everyone was human, everyone had a soul, everyone had feelings, no matter how different some might look.

The carriage stopped in front of a tall red brick building with limited decoration. Mrs Thornton lead Margaret straight inside, not stopping to let her watch the ships, the ice rocks or the small incoming ships which had gone out fishing earlier that morning. The warehouse was quite calm, since business had been slow for a week due to the weather. Yet Margaret was amazed nonetheless.

The central hall was three stories high and Margaret could see straight up to the ceiling. The middle of the warehouse was quite empty, so that when goods did arrive, they could be brought to the middle and from there distributed to the small stalls on each floor. Ropes with hooks dangled from iron beams attached. Margaret didn't quite know how they got them up there, but she guessed at the way as Mrs Thornton walked towards the first lines of stalls.

'This warehouse caters particularly towards clothing and accessories which are made in town like umbrellas, hats, shoes and so on. Here is where our small Liverpudlians, and tradespeople from nearby towns and cities, buy their base products for their workshops.'

Margaret gazed at the laps of leather – still in their recognizable animal form! – laying on tables and across racks. In front of each little shop was the name of the company from which the products came.

When they reached the end of the left side of the warehouse, Margaret looked back to see whether they had missed a stall.

'Have we missed Mr Thornton's stall?'

'No we haven't. My son doesn't deal in leather or sashes.'

She took Margaret to the other side of the ground floor. Here was China, tea and herbs. This time, Mr Thornton had a stall.

'My son specializes in goods from India and the East. Not the America's, where many cheap men go to, not to say that going there is an easy venture. Did you know, Miss Hale?'

Margaret felt her cheeks burn. It was such a simple thing really, she knew Mr Thornton was a tradesman. They'd discussed trade, yet she both failed to know what he bought and where his ventures took him.

'We hadn't really broached that topic yet. We've discussed the ethics of trade and the difficulties of the ventures, but he didn't mention where his ships went to. I never quite knew when to ask.' Or if it mattered that she knew, Margaret added in thought.

'Hmph, a question can always be asked. I think it would have done you a great deal of good. How can you talk of a business when you don't know what it's about?'

'I'm starting to see that now', Margaret said, knowing it was of no use to disagree or defend herself. On this side, Margaret recognized certain shopkeepers sniffing at the herbs and teas, looking for things to buy for their shop, as well as some very well dressed housemaids.

As Mrs Thornton liked sharing her knowledge, and liked being asked questions, Margaret just flung out the thought which was taking shape in her head.

'I see both shopkeepers and servants. Is it not cheaper to buy tea and spices here? And if it is, why doesn't everyone do it?'

'Nicely noticed Miss Hale, you indeed see both. Shopkeepers will sell it with more profit, and may even put additives in the tea and the spices so that they make even more profit while their consumers buy diluted products. But there are a couple of reasons why so few people come and buy it straight from the boat. Firstly, there is the matter of class: lower class women have neither time, nor the social status to enter. As you see, everyone here is well off. You have big people buying bulk for their shops all around the country or spend the whole day in here comparing which fabric is the finest for the royals, a working class woman would stick out like a sore thumb. Secondly there is the matter of distance: the middle and higher classes live quite a distance from the harbour. To get here they would either have to walk a long distance, which is inconvenient when one ventures to buy things. So they would have to come by carriage, which is often times more expensive than simply buying the pricier tea in the shop. It's less convenient than going to the shop around the corner. Besides, people always assume that the shopkeepers they know, are honest shopkeepers and that it's the others that are dishonest. I say you should never trust any shopkeeper on their word and should always test them. So the shopkeepers come here for obvious reasons, and the families who can spare the cost and know the worth come here. They buy their supplies in bulk, so that they can go a longer time without having to return.'

Margaret nodded and followed her upstairs. Here the stalls were filled with many kinds of fabric, on the one side of the warehouse they were rough, and on the other they were coloured, smooth, many times even embroidered or patterned. Here Mr Thornton had a very big stall.

'My son has a deal with the Milton and Manchester mill owners. If he brings them raw materials for some of their fabrics, they give him finished cotton fabric of English quality, same goes with the embroidered fabrics, he sends them raw fabric and they send him a part of their finished collection. That way they can buy their raw materials cheaper, and he can buy finished product cheaper, which makes his prices more interesting for your London shops. Yes Miss Hale, there's a great chance your dresses and skirts are made of fabrics that were bought here. The only thing those seamstresses did was stitch it together.'

Margaret gently touched her Indian shawl, the shape of the flowers and the fabric texture was so different from everything she knew. She was certain it had been imported in its present form. But what Mrs Thornton said could be true for her other clothes, who knew the distance they'd crossed? Who knew how many hands had added to the final fabric?

The next floor held no more stalls. Instead there were tiny offices put up against the four outer walls of the top floor. Mrs Thornton explained that the incredible amount of things Margaret had seen in the stalls, was only a small amount of the total stock and mostly meant for display and sale in small quantities.

Most of the stock was kept in private storage houses. In the offices there were a packer, a principal, a bookkeeper, a traveller to get more from - or bring interested buyers to - the storage house and a clerk who was responsible for all communication.

Such an organisation, Margaret was quite dizzy, how could one man oversee all of this? Mr Thornton had to have at least one hundred men under his service, and in all likelihood even more. Mrs Thornton guided her back to the carriage took her to an insurance company.

Mrs Thornton guided her through this company, despite that Mr Thornton didn't own it. The clerks showed her the papers, and explained how cash transfers happened in trade. Margaret had thought that when English goods were sold, the merchants received cash, put it in their purses, and took it with them to the homeland. Apparently this was a very bad and dangerous idea, and practically everyone brought money to a bank or put the money on so called "papers" they took to their local banks at home or the companies they worked for, and there traded it with money. It was exceedingly difficult and Margaret almost suffered a headache by the time they exited the building.

'There Miss Hale, now you know how our businesses work. Now that you know what we do, you may critique us.'

'Mrs Thornton, today proved to be most educational and I thank you for taking so much time to show me the mechanisms and locations where aspects of trade take place. My understanding has grown immensely. I wouldn't dare to critique any profession without reason. I have no natural love for trade, that much is true. Yet I do not believe I have ever critiqued any aspect of trade except the apparent lack of kindness.'

'It is no kind business, and it cannot be. Business is ruthless, if you care for everyone your business goes nowhere. If you're too generous when buying and selling, your prices can't compete. If you want to be very kind to your employees and pay them more than what is fair, you will have to ask a lot of money for your products or your business goes bankrupt. There is a balance to everything, but each company needs to decide that balance, some companies may be better in the eye of your ethic compared to others, Miss Hale, yet that is the way of life. Some religions or clothes may be more to our liking than others, yet we don't go telling people these other religions or clothes may not exist… Or well, sensible people – in my eyes – don't.'

It was like her father had told her, that she disliked things no one could help but accept. She struggled against these truths that kept being confirmed, as they were too sad to be true. Her ultimate lesson in adulthood seemed to be that there was no way to keep everyone alive and happy.

'I must ask a final favour of you, Mrs Thornton. Do you have a doctor we can trust? I would look for one myself, but such people are better recommended.'

'Are you ill?'

'No, it's just a precaution', she smiled.

Mrs Thornton was suspicious, but gave the name and address of Dr. Donaldson.

'I thank you, Mrs Thornton. I look forward to seeing you and your family again tonight', Margaret said as she exited the coach when it stopped at Bedford Road.

**x.X.x**

Margaret broke yet another nail as she did the dishes while Dixon was installing her mother in the drawing room. Almost none of her long almond nails remained, which had been so pretty in London. Their shortness made her hands look small and childish. With defeat she accepted that the transition from her life of leisure to one as an important contributor to the household had officially manifested itself in her looks.

She dragged herself upstairs after finishing the dishes from the afternoon tea. It was time to make herself ready for the dinner party.

Her room was still cold and sparsely furnished, with only a bed, a closet and a dressing table from which she wrote her letters as well. There was little cosiness about it.

She flopped down on the small stool and took out her scissors and nail file. It was better to just accept defeat instead of letting her nails look uneven. She allowed herself a last glance at her six still long nails before she cut them to a sensible length just above her fingertip and filed them until they were round and soft.

She gazed at her reflexion. She'd never been afflicted with uneven blotchy skin, yet it appeared the stress from the past couple of months had created blemishes on her forehead. They'd been so bad she'd been forced to cut herself a fringe, despite that trend having peaked a decade earlier. But Amalie Wolff-Malcolmi, princess Willhelmine and Grand Duchess Elizabeth Alexeievna still wore it, and she guessed she herself would have to stick with it too from now on. Each day she checked her skin after treating it with an ointment, and each day it remained the same. She wetted her hair and put in her curlers. The curls only had a couple of hours to set, but it would have to do.

In the meantime she occupied herself with working on her yellow dress in the drawing room where she sat with her mother. The gores in the skirt were coming along nicely, as were the beret sleeves she was working on. She'd never liked the look of herself in frilly dresses, but now even holding such fine fabric made her feel bad about her own looks. Fancy dresses had a tendency to look silly, like she was pretending to be someone she wasn't. What was such a bright lovely dress doing on such a thin figure with dark circles under her eyes and nails as short as those of a servant? She was glad she could at least hide her complexion underneath her hair.

The curls turned out well, and Dixon did her hair in a very voluminous updo with combs and tresses of hair flowing down from the intricate arrangement on the top of her head. Dixon ushered her into one of her finer gowns, since she had already worn her two simplest ones and wearing them again within the first three outings wouldn't do.

**x.X.x**

The evening at Mr Ball's was a joyful occasion. The fruit and cheese platters before dinner were constantly topped by the servants in the room the ladies occupied. Crystal decanters with white, rosé and red wine were being passed around most generously and when the time came around for the ladies to go to the dinner table, some were red nosed already.

Mr Ball had cleverly designed it to be thus that Margaret sat next to him so that he could get to know the young woman better. She was pleasant during dinner, exclaiming her love for the lush greenery which had been used as decoration. It was technically too early, as Christmas Eve was still days removed, but this was a Christmas Party after all, so he was allowed to break the rules. They talked about books they enjoyed, and everything seemed to be going well, until the company owners further down the table increased the volume of their voices to include Mr Ball and Mr Thornton, who sat across each other.

Mr Thornton had been most occupied with looking at Miss Hale in her superb white evening dress of figured satin with a festoon flounce caught up with blue rosettes and Marie sleeves made of fine net clasped all the way to the wrist with blue sashes. The blue and green embroidery of trees and flowers on her skirt was equally gorgeous. With her curls piled on top of her head and dancing around her graceful neck, she looked like a perfect china doll.

'Mr Thornton I do believe they are asking for your opinion', Miss Latimer laughed, who was seated next to him. They were considering lowering the wages of their harbour staff since they weren't working as much with the low amount of ships coming in, two even considered firing some. Mr Thornton had them occupied with fixing those still in harbour and repairing sails and other equipment, so his weren't idle, which he told the other masters. Mr Ball equally confirmed he had his men busy with important repairs and tasks he usually delayed.

'I think it is most wise to save money when possible, but how will these workers and their families get through winter, when their wages are cut so suddenly? They need money for food to remain strong, or they might fall ill, die even.'

'The healthy survive, besides, we are not responsible for them. They are free to work in many other places. There are people who work two jobs. And profit for us is favourable for the company, and what's favourable for the company guarantees the survival of the company', Slickson replied to the elderly Mrs Ball.

'Keeping them employed and paying them guarantees that they can pay for food to remain strong, and that they have less time to go to taverns and become drunkards. There is no immediate profit, not that you can count in pounds, chilling or pence. But, my workers are healthier, more focussed and they can work for me for a longer time than yours for you. I don't have to invest in training new workers as often, surely you can see the profit in that.'

'Surely it is the right and moral thing to do also', Mr Hale remarked. Margaret couldn't agree more with her father

'It's sound business sense, Mr Hale. A business cannot function under any moral law. I do not run a charitable institution. I'm an employer, I'm not a father who can command how they should conduct themselves, sorry Mr Hale, but leading a business is not like being a shepherd. My workers expect me to be hard but just, and that is what I give them. They know what they can get from and they either take it, or they can leave. I won't change the terms of my agreements with them, and I in turn, expect them to work as well as they can.'

'Yeah, meanwhile this guy over here tries every trick in the book', Mr Gallagher jokes while kicking Mr Slickson under the table.

'Well, as owners we have got to think about our businesses instead of our workers. Surely it is better to lose some employees in a world filled with men, than to lose an entire business? One man loses his life or some pounds, or hundreds lose their work and income. It's a war. We company owners have to win it, or go under, literally.'

Everyone laughed, but Mr Thornton couldn't help but shake his head.

Mr Slickson of course, had no qualms about lowering the wages, nor did he consider letting them do repairs in the meantime. It was cheaper that way and money had to be made.

Miss Latimer couldn't help but tease Margaret as the conversation continued on the further end of the table between the other merchants and their wives.

'Miss Hale, I'm not sure I'm used to this, you have nothing to say? I'm certain these kinds of ideas elicit a response from a clergyman's daughter, to have the poor treated like this. I'm sure you must have a most interesting view.'

'I have firm beliefs and opinions that much is true. But I do not claim to have an opinion on everything, nor does my opinion always need to be heard, especially on topics which I until today virtually knew nothing about. I'm no expert, nor should I be appointed to judge what is best for business. Just like voting', Margaret said.

It wasn't the answer Miss Latimer had been hoping for.

But it did end the part of Miss Latimer in the conversation.

'Women voting? Virtually no man is allowed to vote, it's unimaginable that women would be able to before all men are entitled to it. And allowing all men to vote is hardly a good thing', Mr Ball laughed.

'Oh, that's not what I meant. I simply meant to illustrate that my voice shouldn't be heard in multiple circumstances, with voting being just one example that my opinion doesn't matter on everything', Margaret explained to Mr Ball who had only paid attention to her last two sentences. But it was of no use, the conversation was taken away from her and escalated.

'But surely, there must be more voters in the future than there are today? A better system is definitely desirable, right now our system supports no one but those who have always been wealthy, excuse me Sir Edward for saying so. But between Leeds, Birmingham and Manchester, all rising industrial cities with a large population and a big economy, there is not a single MP while those poor boroughs like Dunwich can still send two MPs to parliament.'

'Yes, I think we can all agree on that, Mr Gallagher. I, for one, think that fine gentlemen like you with money, big companies and a great understanding of the world should be allowed as much say in politics as a duke who has never left his county. But stuff like the French Revolution is hardly desirable is it? Let us not forget that five years ago, just on our doorstep, the Peterloo Massacre happened. Gentle lobbying can get us there as well. I know that it is, and has been, on the table. Changes are coming within a couple of years. We simply need to be patient. It seems highly unlikely, when looking back on history, that we should stick to the current system for centuries to come. Human kind cannot decide on its form of rule, government or the shape of democracy – and democracy sure is the direction all fashionable countries are heading. There's a rumbling in all civilized modern countries, a storm is stirring. I'm afraid we haven't seen the last of the uprisings, I just hope we English can make change happen as calmly as possible.'

'Yes, some change is needed, but we can hardly let the lower classes vote, why, they haven't even picked up more than ten books in their lives.'

There was no certainty someone of better stock actually learned something from the books they'd been forced to read by their tutors, Margaret thought as the conversation of the gentlemen took off.

'At least they're men, I love my ladies, all ladies even, but women are children and mothers. For all of their life they have been taught nothing but to care for others. The country cannot be ruled with emotion and motherly love', said Mr Hamper

Though it would surely be to everyone's benefit if the country helped its people? Why be upset if people become healthier, wealthier and more educated? England is a religious country where care for the poor is encouraged, why couldn't the country help its own people? Margaret was growing increasingly agitated.

'They are not taught only that', said Mr Reeves as Mr Hamper shouted that he meant that women were raised with the idea that love should lead the way. 'We even require women to know of history, geography, culture and languages before we consider them accomplished. Why, the mathematical and bookkeeping skills of most women far supersedes mine, if anything we should give them control over the banks and the treasury.'

'But there is always a danger to consider, too much knowledge isn't a good thing.'

Oh such a thing could only be said about women! Margaret had struggled through at least three educational books which warned parents about the dangers of teaching girls too much. They had been given to her by her aunt, after she had been spotted reading books with way too many 'complicated words'. Women could go mad, bad and be stricken by a lot of afflictions if they absorbed too much knowledge. Some doctors reported that too much knowledge had a damaging effect on the ovaries, turning attractive young women into dried-up prunes. She wondered, if women were supposed to be these naturally nurturing beings with a natural sweetness and a natural desire for womanly activities like playing with children, painting and singing, why there were so many books which told them what to do and what to think.

Mr Thornton had seen Miss Hale's face move with everything that came out of the mouths of the other men. Her usually calm face was an open book today and he wondered whether that was because her sex was being insulted, or because she'd drank too many glasses of wine. Miss Hale was a lover of justice. She'd been raised on a steady diet of scripture and philosophy. This conversation must hit close to home for her as it both insulted her mind and her upbringing. It was only natural for her to care.

'I much prefer the way your father spends his evenings', Mr Thornton confided to Margaret. She looked up, astonished.

'In lecture and debate?' Margaret asked for clarity.

'Yes, I must admit I much admire his approach. The way in which he studies the matter at hand, and then has a debate about it, listening to everyone and then forming a conclusion about the topic which everyone can approve. I've heard him mention the interpretations and thoughts of certain individuals. I thought these ideas were very smart from time to time, everyone can grow from hearing new perspectives.'

Margaret smiled, getting what Mr Thornton was hinting at. Was this the way Mr Thornton ruled in his own home? It was not unlikely. Mrs Thornton wasn't an educated woman, but she had plenty of common sense. It was equally clear that Mr Thornton had a great love and admiration for her and took her opinion to heart. She was short-sighted in her opinions, lacking the nuance and the understanding of a schooled mind but she was more than capable. It was most likely that he listened to her when she had an idea.

But with this statement, he was also telling her that he disagreed with Mr Slickson, who had been advocating less education for women. Her father had always allowed her to partake in discussions and had always encouraged her studious mind. Her father had blessed and cursed her by satisfying her thirst for knowledge by teaching her many things. She couldn't be satisfied with a husband who had no taste for intellectual conversation, or one who didn't appreciate her intellectual prowess.

She knew Mr Thornton was not a progressive. He probably didn't think giving a vote to people of the third stance or women was a good idea. But Margaret didn't need that, she didn't need a very progressive stance, she had no mind for strong political reform, but she did wish her own sex and the poor were heard and listened to instead of being mocked.

She wanted to thank him for supporting her, but knew that she couldn't do so without breaking the tone of their conversation.

'I agree. I too have learned greatly from people with different backgrounds. I am glad his classes are able to offer you such pleasure and knowledge.'

'Yes, a pleasure it certainly is, I've never seen him so eager as when he has a meeting with your father. I don't understand how knowledge of Plato will help him, but discussing him sure brings him joy', Mrs Thornton, seated on the other side of Mr Thornton, remarked.

'It has no direct use, but that doesn't mean it is useless. It is important to exercise the mind, to keep it sharp. I'm not a man of many fancies, indeed, I never indulge or partake in things just for pleasure. I've been too focussed on work, but now I'm in the privileged position to spend a bit of my time on reading and thinking.'

Margaret nodded in understanding.

'You are certainly right. Reading and philosophising keep the mind sharp. And learning of the past may help us to understand our current world, human nature, and so much more. If-' She looked at Mrs Thornton, and swallowed her words. 'No, I agree. Not everyone has the luxury to spend their time thinking about the world, and having knowledge of Latin is no direct necessity. Yet I do believe that if only people understood themselves and the world better, we would be all the better for it.'

The servants took away their dessert plates and that was the end of the discussion.

**x.X.x**

Everyone was lead to a spacious living room. The room smelled of greenery and woodfire. The smell made Margaret instantly forget the heavy discussions at the dining table. She was ushered towards the piano and gladly accepted the place in front of the shiny keys. The other young ladies gathered around with song books to showcase their lovely voices. It wasn't that they considered her the best player, but they simply preferred singing to playing. Margaret felt no need to join in between their high soprano voices. She rather focussed on playing the melodies right while observing the room.

She was glad the piano was placed in a way that the player faced the room. The older ladies were playing cards, two men were playing chess, four of the elderly gentlemen had started a card game of their own and the others were gone. Until suddenly in came the young men with a shallow bowl filled with an amber liquid.

'What's that?' Margaret asked as Mr Ball told a servant to dim the chandelier. The servant scurried to bring more candles to the chess and cards table of the men, and the women relocated their card game closer to the fireplace.

'Oh, they're going to play Snap-dragon, my brother's been looking out for it the whole year. It's a holiday game. Don't they play it in London?'

'Not that I have seen, thank you Miss Gallagher.'

Margaret quickly came to understand why the game Mr Kearney, Mr Ball, Sir Aldridge and Mr Gallagher jr. partook in wasn't played in her London circles.

The bowl was lit by a flame and blue lights erupted. Unprepared, Margaret pulled her hands back in shock, leading to an awkward pause in the music as she forced herself to start playing again. Her cheeks burned as she felt the eyes of everyone in the room on her.

'Get Thornton out of that smoking room! He is on the wrong side of five-and-thirty to hide in there with the old men', laughed Sir Aldridge. The men discarded their coats, and the singing women regularly snuck glances at the men, most of whom appeared significantly slimmer without their padded coats which accentuated their shoulders and chest region.

Then Thornton was dragged in, and Margaret immediately felt the shift in Miss Latimer, whose voice suddenly turned higher and louder. When he divested his coat his figure didn't seem less imposing in the slightest. He looked uncomfortable, he was dragged here indeed, a glass of brandy he carried from the other room was still in his hands. The threw it back without blinking, and went to stand near the table. He never looked at the ladies once, but Miss Latimer kept singing like a trained songbird.

Margaret stared into the hypnotizing blue flame, which was suddenly broken by a quick male hand delving towards the bowl and then quickly retreating amongst laughter. Mr Ball shook his hand and head.

Then it was Mr Kearney's turn, whose hand flew towards the bowl, made some of the liquid spill on top of the table, and then retreated.

Now it was Mr Thornton's turn. He stared at the fire as intently as he stared at everything he encountered and then, like a viper, he straightened, his shoulders hunching over the table as he prepared for his move. With a speed and precision she hadn't expected, his hand shot out and stole something from the bowl. The cheering of the men disrupted the ladies' singing. A small smile chased over his face before he brought the brown wrinkled treat to his mouth and swallowed it. A raisin.

They were marinating them in liquor and eating them hot. Margaret imagined the ladies doing it, and was immediately haunted with images of transparent fabric and billowy sleeves getting splashes of the burning liquid on them and catching fire. She'd heard of ladies in London whose dresses had caught fire by standing too close to the hearth. But the shirt sleeves of the men seemed save and tight enough, and Sir Aldridge, the only one sporting looser sleeves, simply slid them up to his elbow.

'Oh how darling, Snap-dragon. Are those Málaga raisins?' asked Miss Latimer as she walked away from the piano. Mr Thornton now did divert his eyes from his male company towards her, and then looked past her to Margaret who inadvertently caught his gaze.

The memories of the previous dinner suddenly flooded her memory and she simply had to look away again as she played Deck the Halls.

The circle went round again and again, until Miss Latimer, finally unsatisfied with looking on, took off her gloves and decided to partake. Her sleeves were short and puffy and therefore ideal for the game.

Mrs Latimer rolled her eyes but loved her coquettish child too much to forbid her anything.

'Oh,' cried Fanny upon seeing Miss Latimer gleefully put a grape in her mouth, 'Mr Watson, you must aid me in achieving one.'

Mr Watson, by all accounts on the wrong side of five-and-thirty to partake in the boyish game, decided to humour his twenty year old fiancée and excused himself to Mr Hale as he left the chess table.

'One.' He decided. 'I'm sorry I'm imposing on your game lads, but we must humour the lovely ladies, don't we? After all, they deserve to get everything in this world, where would we be without them?'

The last words she heard him speak instantly came back to her. _'Our ladies deserve a little bit of experience.' _She thought she had been over it. Mr Watson managed to acquire a raisin and offered it to Miss Thornton before retreating to the chess table again.

The flame had gone out for the third time and they decided not to relight it.

The men were discussing whether they would join the carolling ladies or retreat elsewhere when Miss Latimer exclaimed: 'Mr Thornton, are you in voice tonight?'

'I don't believe myself to be not-in-voice, that is', Mr Thornton said guardedly.

Miss Latimer smiled as she walked around the room.

'Then, _signior_, I lay upon your sovereign behest to furbish up your lungs and other vocal organs, as they will be wanted. I think I speak for everyone in this room when I say we still remember you vocal talents from last Yule Tide.'

'You flatter me too much, I have no need of this praise.'

But she had managed to get the rest of the room in on it as well.

'I would like to hear the men sing tonight. I've loved the songs 'till now, but surely the merging of both female and male voices sounds much more pleasant and warm', said Mrs Latimer.

Mrs Gallagher agreed, and even Lady Aldridge now insisted on the men singing. The men, being quite unwilling, lovingly pushed Mr Thornton forward as the superior singer so that they could avoid their fates just a while longer.

Margaret had stopped playing when Fanny ran away, but hadn't vacated the bench in front of the piano yet.

Miss Latimer stopped moving, only now remembering Margaret. Margaret was blessedly looking at Mr Thornton who was approaching the piano, and took no notice of the daggers Miss Latimer's eyes threw in her direction.

**x.X.x **

Margaret was yet again in the position to receive attention from Mr Thornton, attention she had set up to receive herself. Anne had planned it even the night before, how she was going to encourage Mr Thornton to sing while she let herself fall down on the small bench in front of the piano. She had even prepared some more dialogue, but now it was cut short.

Now instead of she, Miss Hale sat upon the bench in her pristine white dress with her skirts spreading out in queenly amplitude, looking like an insecure demure angel with her face hidden behind those glossy curls. Everyone had remarked upon Miss Hale's knowledge of songs. Miss Latimer knew she was the better pianist, if only she got a chance to show off! There had been no use to playing before, she rather enjoyed demonstrating her voice by singing, but to accompany Mr Thornton's voice she was prepared to lend her hands. Miss Hale had even heard Mr Thornton was reserved for her!

The other girls in the room seemed in no hurry to encourage Anne to sing. No praises were given to her vocal talent, which would give her occasion to take Miss Hale's place at the piano. No, instead songs were shouted for the two of them to sing. And worst of all, the choice seemed to become The 12 Days of Christmas. Oh, it simply had to be about a man and his wife, didn't it? But at least this song was a game for everyone in the room. It was a memory game, nothing too intimate.

'Do you like a challenge, Miss Hale?' asked Mr Thornton suddenly.

'What kind of challenge, Mr Thornton?'

'I cannot defeat your knowledge on Roman philosophers, but maybe I can redeem myself by showing my strength of memory. Let us sing this one without papers, except the sheet music. The first one who slips up has to admit defeat.'

'Do you believe my memory to be inferior to yours on the short term?'

'Not at all, let us simply see whether we are matched. We shall each look at the song for a total of 2 minutes before we start.'

'Yet I am disadvantaged, as I need to think about the keys as well', said she.

Mr Thornton looked around the room.

No, Anne decided. She would not help those two. She refused to be reduced to a tool with which the two could grow closer. But Fanny was more than willing, damned be the silly goose.

**x.X.x**

The two looked at their text. Mr Thornton feared he had been too bold by challenging Miss Hale, but the gathering only saw it as exciting entertainment. He made more of it in his head than it actually was, since his feelings for Miss Hale were different from those he felt for others. This game was often played, mostly between more people, but sometimes between two to amp up the competitive spirit.

'The two minutes are over', remarked Miss Latimer. Mr Thornton looked as Miss Hale for confirmation that it was alright to begin. She couldn't hide a small smile while she agreed. Ah, so she could still smile! And at him!

Fanny started playing with many embellishments and artistic air.

_"On the first day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the second day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the third day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the fourth day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Four colley birds,  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the fifth day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Five gold rings.  
Four colley birds,  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree."_

The elder people and the other young people joined in during each five rings phrase. Margaret and Mr Thornton's smiles grew with each verse they successfully finished. They weren't going to give up. Margaret's determination to show female brightness against Mr Thornton's long supressed feelings of intellectual and social inferiority to the gentle class was a battle that went beyond song.

_"On the sixth day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Six geese a laying,  
Five gold rings.  
Four colley birds,  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the seventh day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Seven swans a swimming,  
Six geese a laying,  
Five gold rings.  
Four colley birds,  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the eighth day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Eight maids a milking,  
Seven swans a swimming,  
Six geese a laying,  
Five gold rings.  
Four colley birds,  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the ninth day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Nine drummers drumming,**2**_ ** _  
_ ** _Eight maids a milking,  
Seven swans a swimming,  
Six geese a laying,  
Five gold rings.  
Four colley birds,  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the tenth day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Ten pipers piping,  
Nine drummers drumming,**  
**Eight maids a milking,  
Seven swans a swimming,  
Six geese a laying,  
Five gold rings.  
Four colley birds,  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the eleventh day of Christmas,  
My true love sent to me  
Eleven ladies dancing,  
Ten pipers piping,  
Nine drummers drumming, **  
**Eight maids a milking,  
Seven swans a swimming,  
Six geese a laying,  
Five gold rings.  
Four colley birds,  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves and  
A partridge in a pear tree._

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, _  
_ My true love sent to me _  
_ Twelve lords a leaping, _  
_ Eleven ladies dancing, _  
_ Ten pipers piping, _  
_ Nine drummers drumming, _  
_ Eight maids a milking, _  
_ Seven swans a swimming, _  
_ Six geese a laying,_  
_ Five gold rings._  
_ Four colley birds, _  
_ Three French hens, _  
_ Two turtle doves and _  
_ A partridge in a pear tree."_

No one had slipped up. Both Margaret and Mr Thornton looked at each other, both not daring to remark, or even think, on the implications of finishing the song successfully.

They were equally matched.

* * *

Notes:

If you want to be able to copy paste a link: simply go to the mobile version of my story. Then you are able to copy-paste. So s/13289955/1/Pride-and-Power becomes s/13289955/1/Pride-and-Power. Voila.

So, what did you think about the sneak peak into the head of Miss Latimer?

Also, I've just written a four page outline for this story and I'm really please with it, little sneak peak: this story will include mazes, one more death than in the book, an extra guest appearance of Frederick and an awful lot of karma. Excited?

\- An image of a big warehouse: .

\- How I imagine Thornton's stall to look: .

\- On dress between 1815-1830 check out: /romantic_ #Romantic%20Era%201825-1835

\- So smoking rooms only became a thing around 1850 but since I already included it in a previous chapter I decided to just let it slide. My apologies.

\- Who spotted the little part of dialogue I included from Jane Eyre? I do see Anne Latimer as quite similar to Blanche Ingram for some reason.

\- Christmas Carol songs: not even Silent Night was invented yet. The songtext of that one was written in 1816, the music was composed in 1818, and though it managed to reach New York by 1839, it was only published in 1833. Until then the Rainers had sung it since 1819 but without sheet music it wouldn't be that well known, not even in London. Oh Christmas tree was only written in Germany in 1824, the year of this fic, even though it was based on a 16th-century Silesian song.

-This version of 12 days of Christmas stems from 1780, it has undergone many changes since then.

_  
More serious matters:  
Irish women without fixed employment often became prostitutes for so called "dark jacks"(definitely not my term). All strangers did indeed end up living in the "south end" of Liverpool. More on the topic here stable/10.1086/424984?Search=yes&resultItemClick=true&searchText=liverpool&searchText=society&searchUri=%2Faction%2FdoBasicSearch%3Ffc%3Doff%26amp%3Bgroup%3Dnone%26amp%3Bwc%3Don%26amp%3BsearchType%3DfacetSearch%26amp%3Bdisc_britstud-discipline_facet%3DYnJpdHN0dWQtZGlzY2lwbGluZQ%253D%253D%26amp%3Bed%3D%26amp%3Bsd%3D%26amp%3Bacc%3Don%26amp%3BQuery%3Dliverpool%2Bsociety&ab_segments=0%2Fdefault-2%2Fcontrol&seq=7#metadata_info_tab_contents

\- Black people in Britain in colonial times were either used as slaves, or became domestic servants to sea captains, wealthy merchants and members of british aristocracy. Other black settlers, such as the sons of african dignitaries or offspring of white masters from Caribbean plantations came to be educated. Since the abolition of slavery in 1807 their presence was of a different shape. They were often employed in companies like Elder Dempster shipping firm. But this company only came into existence after my story, so the name of the company I mentioned was an earlier one, which later lead to the creation of Elder Dempster. Liverpool had indeed been a strategical place during the British slave trade era. They had 90% of the slavetrade of all of Britain. At least 26 of Liverpool's mayors were or have been slave merchants or close relatives of them between 1700-1820. stable/2784734?Search=yes&resultItemClick=true&searchText=liverpool&searchText=during&searchText=the&searchText=early&searchText=19th&searchText=century&searchUri=%2Faction%2FdoBasicSearch%3FQuery%3Dliverpool%2Bduring%2Bthe%2Bearly%2B19th%2Bcentury&ab_segments=0%2Fdefault-2%2Fcontrol&refreqid=search%3A0754eddf295b5bf6b83a6ea2519e30e0&seq=12#metadata_info_tab_contents


	8. Loss, Love and Friendship

Margaret awoke from a loud thunder which reverberated through her room and managed to shake even her heartbeat. The day was dark, the clouds only gleaming with yellow, the tell-tale sign of an approaching storm. The thunder crackled again, and lightning blinded a bleary eyed Margaret.

All the icicles on her window had transformed into melancholy drips of rain.

Looking down she saw the snow making place for soaking wet pavement on the little courtyard. Why on the day of Christmas Eve did the magical winter snow trade places with dreary rain? Did the heavens not know their Lord was to be born this night? As the winds turned and rain started beating down against her window, she returned back to bed with a candle and read another chapter of Dante before heading down.

'Are you going to see your friend today Margaret?' Mrs Hale asked over breakfast of Margaret.

'She was so ill yesterday, I quite forgot to ask when would be a right time to visit them again' said Margaret, dolefully.

'Dear! Everybody is ill now, I think,' said Mrs. Hale. 'But it must be very sad to be ill in one of those  
little back streets, and around Christmas! It's bad enough here. What could you do for her, Margaret? Mr. Thornton has sent me some of his old port wine since you went out with papa yesterday. Would a bottle of that do her good, think you?'

Mr. Thornton had thought of her yesterday? Margaret's thoughts went back to just a few days earlier. To the splendid food, Mr. Thornton's piercing eyes as he sung with her. She pushed the memory away. He hadn't told her about it!

'No, mamma! I don't believe they are very poor, at least, they don't speak as if they were below the average income. At any rate, Bessy's illness is consumption. Wine won't do her any good. Perhaps, I might take her a little preserve, made of our dear Helstone fruit. No! there's another family to whom I should like to give. Especially since Christmas is the time to give to the less fortunate. We always try our hardest but these days we must pay even more attention to the less fortunate. Oh mamma, mamma! How am I to dress up in my finery, and go off and away to smart parties, while I know of the sorrow that goes on beyond the doors of those little houses?' exclaimed Margaret, bursting the bounds she had preordained for herself as she told her mother of what she had seen and heard at Higgins's cottage.

It distressed Mrs. Hale excessively. It made her restlessly irritated till she could do something. She directed Margaret to pack up a basket in the very drawing-room, to be sent there and  
then to the family. But Dixon wouldn't have it. 'In this weather? On the day of Christmas Eve? I've got the living rooms to clean for tomorrow morning, and the laundry to do. No I'm busy enough, we're unfortunate too! And at my age going outside in this weather won't do me any good.'

So without telling her mother, she swept outside and walked quickly to the cottage of the Higgins's. It wasn't raining when she left the house, the downpour having stopped an hour before, but by the time she turned the corner of her street, the first drop landed on her nose. Outside, she did hear the rumbling far away. And the clouds lit up with faint light every now and then, but she couldn't distinguish a lightning bolt. Surely, the storm wouldn't catch on aogain the first thirty minutes or so. A louder thunder resonated two streets down the road. Margaret hurried on. She'd planned on staying a little while, but it was clear she would have to make a run for it.

* * *

A knock on the door went unanswered. Just like the next one. Were they not at home? She couldn't simply leave it out here, could she? She decided to try a last time. The door was opened by an angery and red eyed Nicholas Higgins.

'Oh you is it! But too late! Too late indeed! It will do you no well to visit. Those foods won't make her better, no they won't. A waste.'

Fear crept into Margaret's heart. Her brain refused to understand as she simply watched Nicholas throw open the door and walk back inside. She daren't talk anymore. She daren't think.

After the party she had been unable to drop by, caught up in household chores since they had allowed Mary a couple of days off for the Holidays.

'My girl, my sweet girl, my first born! Gone before me! It ain't right. It's wrong. So wrong. If I'd known what woul've happened I woul've never let her an hoo's mother go! Hoo was still here when I went to bed, cold when I woke up! Not even able to say good-bye before hoo dove into an eternal slumber. At least hoo had no fear, no, that fantasy man oop there comforted her. You helped fill hoo's head with silly tales but at least hoo took comfort in 'em.'

Bessy was lying limp in the couch by the fire. Never before had Margaret seen death. She'd read about it, just this morning in Dante, but this had no poetic loveliness. Her lips were pale, her cheeks hollow. If anything she frightened Margaret; it divided her between wanting to cry and throw her arms around the lithe figure, and run away as far as possible. The frail girl who had been so weak, yet had that little amused smile tugging at the edge of her mouth as she talked to Margaret, had been replaced by a soulless body.

And now Nicholas was alone, without the daughter he loved so much! And gone was Bessy, who never got to say goodbye, hold a baby or take a husband. A life unlived! A life thrown away by some manufacturer who was cheap on care for his labour forces just so he could live in more splendour. It made her sick to her stomach. She decided she hated the man who caused this. She could just imagine the tears on the faces of women and children who received the announcements their husbands and fathers had died in Slickson's company.

In Helstone this would not have happened!

'Mr Higgins! Where are you going?'

'To fetch an undertaker before they close. I love hoo a great deal but I can't just let her lay here. We have but two rooms in this house. And then to Ali Baba's Treasure House.'

'What is that place?'

'A gin house', Mary whispered, who Margaret only now noticed was sitting in an opposite corner of the room. Her face was red from crying.

'Mr Higgins don't go. It will do you no good. And it costs money, money you could use for the funeral. Money you'll need if the ice doesn't melt soon enough. Some owners are talking about cutting the wages or letting off some people because of the weather.'

'Of course they do, sly foxes', he growled as he started pacing.

'I have no business in your affairs. But I beg you to think of her. Would Bessy have wanted this for you? You've always been a proud good man, don't drown your sorrows.'

'Yes, hoo's wise Mary, you've found a good mistress. I reckon you is right as well about the wages. It isn't easy miss, to lose your daughter and your wife and never see your life improve. Can we be blamed for grabbing the bottle? But I won't, there, I won't do it.'

'Please Mr Higgins, I'm- I'm very sorry for B-Bessy. I'm very saddened by- by her passing. It's sad too lose someone, especially this time of the year. I'm so sorry. But please, my basket is still for you, if you'll have it.'

* * *

Margaret practically ran from the home, and only noticed the rain when she was already three streets down the road. What a rotten world! Bessy had often remarked her death was near, but to have her die was still shocking. Her mind had detached herself from her body, it was only when she arrived back home and Dixon cried out and wrapped a towel around her that she realized she was soaked and crying.

By night time Dixon had made sure Margaret was nice and docile after having put her in a herbal bath with more than enough Turkish opium in her system. For once Dixon encouraged Margaret to read and relax while drops of laudanum had been present in every cup of tea she drank. Margaret had been oblivious of the latter as Dixon always prepared quite a strong tea and Margaret shared the tea pot with her mother. She didn't yet know her mother had been consuming laudanum on a daily basis for the past two months. Her thoughts still went to Bessy at regular intervals, but the melancholy and intense conflicted feelings had been washed away. By five in the evening Margaret had been put in a pale cornflower dress, her hair in tight curls from being in curlers all day, and she didn't protest as her mother decorated her with more jewels than she liked.

Her mother wished them enjoyment and remained at home with Dixon.

* * *

The party was lively and energetic. Everywhere Margaret looked there was green to be seen, servants only played joyful songs and young children ran through the house. A happy giddiness took place as the calmth from the laudanum slowly transformed into euphoria thanks to the mirth of the party.

She found herself standing with Mrs Thornton, her father, and Miss Galagher and Mrs Gallagher. A little girl ran and stood behind Margaret's skirt. Margaret looked down, and the girl threw an insecure look up at the lady.  
'It's alright', Margaret whispered conspiratorially. The girl smiled and took her skirt, pressing against Margaret's legs to hide from whoever was looking for her. Looking up, Margaret suddenly found herself in the midst of a conversation she had been paying no attention to whatsoever.

'To hold and maintain a high, honourable place among the merchants of his country and the men of his city. Such a place my son has earned for himself. Go where you will, I don't say in England only, but in Europe, the name of John Thornton of Liverpool is known and respected amongst all men of business. Of course, it is unknown in the fashionable circles,' she explained, clearly as an answer to something which had been previously remarked.

'Idle gentlemen and ladies are not likely to know much of a Liverpool trade company owner, unless he gets into parliament, or marries a lord's daughter.'

Margaret shared an uneasy look with her father as they had never heard of this great name, until Mr. Bell had written them word that Mr. Thornton would be a good friend to have in Liverpool. Margaret took a great pride in the amount of people she'd gotten to know and hear about in London, an she felt quite put off by Mrs Thornton insinuating she was idle and unknowing, but for some odd reason, she felt the need to laugh.

The proud mother's world was not their world of Harley Street gentilities on the one hand, or country clergymen and Hampshire squires on the other. Margaret's face, in spite of all her endeavours to keep it simply listening in its expression told the sensitive Mrs. Thornton this feeling of hers, but luckily, she managed not to laugh.

'You think you never heard of this wonderful son of mine, Miss Hale. You think I'm an old woman whose ideas are bounded by Liverpool, and whose own crow is the whitest ever seen.'

'No,' said Margaret, with some spirit. 'It may be true, that I was thinking I had hardly heard Mr. Thornton's name before I came to Liverpool. But since I have come here, I have heard enough to  
make me respect and admire him, and to feel how much justice and truth there is in what you have said of him.'

'Who spoke to you of him?' asked Mrs. Thornton, a little mollified, yet sceptical. She prayed that whoever had talked of her boy had done him full justice. Margaret hesitated before she replied. She  
did not like this authoritative questioning, even though she knew it was Mrs Thornton's habbit. She felt disinclined to answer a question asked with such a tone, yet wished to answer it to see what kind of effect it would have on Mrs Thornton. Mr. Hale came in, as he thought, to the rescue.

'It was what Mr. Thornton said himself, that made us know the kind of man he was. Was it not, Margaret?'

Mrs. Thornton drew herself up, and said: 'My son is not the one to tell of his own doings. May I again ask you, Miss Hale, from whose account you formed your favourable opinion of him? A mother is curious and greedy of commendation of her children, you know.'

As Mrs Thornton was now implying her father had lied, she took the opportunity to both defend her father and silence Mrs Thornton who was once again making assumptions about Margaret. 'It was as much from what Mr. Thornton withheld of that which we had been told of his previous life by Mr.  
Bell. It is what he refrained from telling that made us all feel what reason you have to be proud of him. And, in case you feel inclined to say that Mr Bell is exactly the type of man with the idle life you described, I've heard good things from harbour employees, I won't say of which company, as well', Margaret smiled.

'Mr. Bell! What can he know of John? He, living a lazy life in a drowsy college, but you knew I was going to say that. But I'm obliged to you, Miss Hale. Many a missy young lady would have shrunk from giving an old woman the pleasure of hearing that her son was well spoken of.'

'Why?' asked Margaret, in an attempt to guess whether she had done right by pleasing Mrs Thornton by giving an answer, or had ignored a rule of Liverpool society by answering.

'Why! because I suppose they might have consciences that told them how surely they were making the old mother into an advocate for them, in case they had any plans on the son's heart.'

She smiled a grim smile, for she had been pleased by Margaret's frankness; and perhaps she felt that she had been asking questions too much as if she had a right to catechise.

This time Margaret couldn't help laughing. This was not the answer she had expected! And now she thought of her mother and Bessy, who had asked about Mr Thornton. Did everyone believe there was nothing in the world to do but find a husband? And why was everyone convinced Mr Thornton was such an amazing choice for her? She was equally relieved that by asking why answering Mrs Thornton was special, she had simultaneously shown that she hadn't given an answer to flatter Mrs Thornton.

Margaret laughed so merrily that it grated on Mrs Thornton's ear, as if the words that called forth that laugh, must have been utterly and entirely ludicrous. Margaret stopped her merriment as soon as she saw Mrs Thornton's annoyed look.

'I beg your pardon, madam. But I really am very much obliged to you for exonerating me from making any plans on Mr. Thornton's heart.'

'Young ladies have, before now,' said Mrs. Thornton, stiffly. Miss Gallagher looked uncomfortably at Anne Latimer across the room. Did Mrs Thornton know of her attempts? Did she approve of them?

'Oh I didn't wish to imply that your son would make a bad husband, not at all. I was simply relieved that you didn't suspect me of making plans just because I answered your question truthfully. I'm sorry if my reaction is a bit off, I'm not feeling quite myself tonight.' The girl slowly let go of Margaret's skirt and went to stand on her other side. Margaret looked at the child's movement, amused by the game, and looked up to find the conversation again continued.

'I cannot answer for my son's engagements. There is some uncomfortable work going on in the town; a threatening of a raid somewhere in the harbour. If so, his experience and judgment will make him much consulted by his friends. But I should think he could come on Thursday. At any rate, I am sure he will let you know if he cannot.'

'A raid!' asked Margaret. 'What for? What are they going to raid? Why?'

'It's winter, the people can go hungry. Our warehouses and storages are well guarded, but we need to be vigilant. There are those who would dishonestly take what they have not earned.'

'Oh how dreadful, I pity their circumstances but stealing cannot be the solution', Margaret sighed.

* * *

As Mrs Gallagher asked Mrs Thornton a question about how Mr Thornton went about protecting his storage and warehouse, Miss Gallagher took Margaret aside.

'Margaret, are you well, you seem – I apologise if I'm being impolite – out of sorts?'

'Oh no, it's fine. I suppose the effects of the laudanum are yet to wear off.'

'Oh, are you unwell?'

'I've heard quite some bad news this morning, that is all. You needn't worry.'

'Oh, is it personal?'

'No, an acquaintance of mine has died just today', Margaret smiled as she bent down to pet a cat that walked by and rubbed against her skirts.

Since they couldn't talk on the topic of death in a delicate or proper manner, least of all in public on Christmas Eve, they dropped the topic. Dinner began and discussions arose, as usual.

Margaret wondered if they would ever manage to have a dinner party with only polite and philosophical conversation like in London. She found it difficult to school her expressions, and found herself unable to contain her emotions.

Sir Aldridge and Mr Thornton were having a conversation about importing products come spring, and then turned towards the women, asking them what would sell well and what they would like to see.

'And you, miss Hale, what do your London tastes enjoy as far as exotic products are concerned?'

'Oh I don't care for exotic products. I enjoy them but I have no need for exotic tea and the newest dye for my dress. Nay, I think we should sometimes be happier with less.'

'What do you mean Miss Margaret?'

'Well, take all this global scale trade, and the industrial level on which clothes are produced. Have we really a need for it? We managed without it fine up until now. Yet now those with capital deem it necessary, but why? When is the human cost of this economy taken into account? No, I shall not say what I would like to be important. What I would like is for all of us to be happier with less, and for investment in the care of the employees.'

'You think because I am a tradesman I only think in terms of buying and selling?' Mr Thornton asked, not understanding what brought forth Margaret's rising agony and agitation.

'No,' she said while lowering her voice, 'I know you don't. But it's very clear that many people involved in the economy in ways that require them to have people in their employment, make plenty of immoral decisions only taking profit into account and I have a great dislike for it. I cannot and refuse to reconcile it with my upbringing and Christianity.'

'Yes, and it is something that needs to be changed. Though we have been over the topic of why profit needs to be taken into account.'

'We have, and I agreed until a point but-'

The image of Bessy's dead body appeared in front of her and she bit her lip. She couldn't push it away.

Sir Aldridge broke the uncomfortable tension Margaret had yet again caused with her opinion, though their discussion luckily hadn't been overheard by the rest of the table. 'But I have a feeling this isn't about our question as to what you would like, Miss Hale. Is something the matter?'

It was only when Sir Aldridge spoke his words that Mr Thornton indeed realized that Miss Hale, though he had started calling her Margaret in his head, didn't seem as defensive or determined. No, now her trembling lip and glassy eyes created an image of a woman close to tears instead of a woman determined to fight the beast of capitalism.

Her eyes cleared up, and her shoulders straightened as she looked at them. The stiff upper lip appearing once more as she turned into a queen once more.

'Today I lost my friend, Bessy Higgins. She and her mother went to work in a factory in Milton since the family was quite poor at the time. Her mother died soon, and Bessy took ill. Her father immediately retrieved her but the damage had been done. She suffered for years from the fluff on her lungs before she passed away this morning. I've heard this isn't even an uncommon occurrence. People who go to mills get paid quite well, but die before they ever reach old age. Such is the price we pay, and I find it very hard to live with it, knowing that we pay for the clothes we wear in human lives.'

* * *

John knew of the mills. Had he been any younger than he had been when his father died, he would have probably been sent to the mills as well, to crawl under the machines. He knew of the deaths and casualties. There were some factories, like the ones he worked with, who were quite careful and shared his ethics on investing in good employees instead of continuously looking for new ones, but there was nothing to do about the small particles floating through the factories yet.

'You are friends with a factory girl?' Miss Galagher asked surprised.

John gazed at Margaret. She, who had been so privileged in her upbringing and had been so prideful, had made friends with a poor factory girl. She with dignified airs, grace and knowledge beyond that of any woman he'd seen before, had been on first name basis with a girl who probably didn't even know how to read and must have surely been quite coarse. He always felt like she looked down on him and his sort, yet apparently she had no issue with those who were of lower social circles! Yet at the same time it made sense that a clergyman's daughter would care so much for the poor and the less fortunate. In her eyes the merchants had no need for her sympathy, while this girl clearly did. She rose in his regard now that he finally understood that she was neither arrogant nor too proud to deal with them.

She did not look down on them because they were of inferior birth, she simply had a dislike for those who were in a position to exploit those who had her natural sympathy. And suddenly he wondered how life would have been if he had not been John Thornton, the merchant of Thornton & co., stakeholder in the EIC, but John Thornton, crewmember on one of the ships of the other company owners. Would she have visited his home with baskets for his delicate sister and bestowed them with her kindness?

He imagined her listening with undivided attention to his tale of woe as she offered him her prayers. It endeared her to him, to know her haughtiness and coldness was not because she looked down on him because of his birth like so many fine ladies would.

'I was friends with a factory girl', she said. She poked her food but drank more from her elder wine than she actually ate. No doubt the loss of today ruined her appetite.

'I agree, the economy has as many benefits as it has downsides. I admire your heart and care, Miss Hale. I don't want to lose hope, however. I believe they are the inevitable teething troubles of a new system, and I have no doubt the situation will become better in time', Sir Aldridge said.

Margaret smiled at Sir Aldridge.

'Yes, I hope so too. I am sorry for misdirecting my feelings. I meant no offense', she said while directing the last sentence to Mr Thornton. 'I know not everyone is the same. Unfortunately there is a large group who deserves the critique I vocalize. I don't agree with everything you say or do, but this wasn't directed towards you.'

As much an insult as a means to make up to him. He nodded and continued eating. He doubted Margaret had ever agreed with someone on everything, she was too opinionated, and her opinions a good deal too uncommon, for that to be possible.

* * *

'Come, let's go play some games', decided Miss Latimer after dinner. And thus a game was started. Miss Thornton had made cards with historical duo's on them. She was planning on giving everyone their card, but Mr Gallagher jr. decided that it would be sad if Miss Thornton couldn't participate because of her role as distributor. Thus, Miss Latimer's plan to make Fanny give her and Mr Thornton matching cards was ruined when all cards were thrown into a bowl and everyone picked a random card.

'Are the duo's logical? Or are they intended to be funny?' asked Sir Aldridge.

'Sometimes they are a legit couple. Sometimes they are not. An example which isn't included is King Arthur and Excalibur as a pairing. So you may be looking for an inanimate object as a match', Miss Thornton laughed.

Everyone who had wanted to participate was sat down at a table with drinks and chocolate, as those who wanted to talk went to a separate room.

'Miss Thornton: are you a human being?' Asked Mr Reeves who had decided to join the youngsters.

'Yes. Are you, Mr Reeves?'

'I am. Mr Thornton, are you a man?' asked Mr Reeves.

The room erupted in laughter, with Sir Aldridge laughter the loudest of them all.

'I am not', Mr Thornton answered with an amused smile.

'Sir Aldridge, are you a woman?'

'I am most certainly not. Miss Latimer, are you a human being?'

'I am', she sighed.

'Miss Gallagher, are you a human being?' she asked.

'I am not', decided Miss Gallagher after some consideration.

'Brother, are you a human being?'

'No sister, I'm not a human being either. Miss Hale, are you a woman?'

'I am', Margaret smiled. 'Sir Aldridge, are you a person that has been born on this planet in real life?'

'Yes I am! Mr Thornton, are you a real life person?'

'I am', admitted Mr Thornton. 'Miss Gallagher, are you an inanimate object?'

'I am not', said Miss Gallagher now unable to contain her laughter.

'Miss Latimer, are you a woman?'

'Yes I am. Mr Gallagher, are you an animal?'

'I am not. Miss Hale, since you asked whether Sir Aldridge was a real life person I simply have to ask: are you a real person?'

'I am not', laughed Margaret. 'Miss Gallagher, since you are not a human being or an inanimate object: are you an animal?'

Miss Gallagher shook her head. 'Miss Latimer, are you well known for an accomplishment?'

'It depends on what one considers an accomplishment, but I assume not', she admitted with a smile. 'Mr Thornton; are you royalty?'

'Yes I am. Sister, are you a woman?'

'I am. Mr Gallagher, are you an inanimate object?'

'Yes I am. Hmm, Miss Hale, if you are fictional: are you from a book written by a male author? Please say you aren't, if you are that will not make our search easier.'

Margaret laughed. 'Fortunately for you I am from a novel written by a woman! Mr Reeves, are you a man?'

The conversation continued onward, and within five rounds Miss Thornton and Mr Reeves were matched as Cleopatra and Marc Anthony.

But everyone remained curious about what Mr Gallagher and Miss Gallagher were until Margaret suddenly realized what could be possible if she was Mrs Bennet. There were no fictional men present, therefore, there was no Mr Bennet so either Mr Gallagher or Miss Gallagher had to be a joke. What fit Mrs Bennet? Her daughters? Nerves? Or suitors for her daughters?

'Miss Gallagher, do you happen to be multiple persons?'

'Yes! Finally, oh my god!'

The rest looked curiously at Margaret, except Fanny who had made the cards.

The game continued and now Margaret couldn't wait until the next round.

But Mr Gallagher, afraid that Margaret was too close to guessing someone's identity, claimed the question about Miss Gallagher's identity. However, that was no problem for Margaret.

'Mr Thornton, are you the wife of a Hanoverian king?'

'Yes.' Well that narrowed it down.

Now the game had really begun.

Miss Gallagher guessed that Miss Latimer was a mistress.

Mr Thornton guessed that Sir Aldridge was a king.

Miss Latimer then declared: 'I know who you are! You are George the Fourth!'

At that moment it clicked in Sir Aldridge's head. 'I am. And if you are a mistress, that means you are hmm, Lady Francis Villiers? I'm sorry, I had quite a few', he laughed.

Margaret finally managed to ask another question of Miss Gallagher. 'Miss Gallagher, are you a bunch of good suitors or rich potential husbands?'

'I- Rich Husbands. Yes! Why but I- I don't know who you are.'

It took Miss Gallagher three more tries to guess that Margaret was Mrs Bennet, as she had never read Jane Austen, only heard of her, and had thought her to be a male author. Apparently the public secret wasn't that well known.

But the saddest and longest game was between Mr Gallagher and Mr Thornton, who turned out to be a pair of closed doors, and poor queen Caroline.

* * *

They left the table to get refreshments and talk with other people. Margaret's head had finally started to clear up from the opiates and she was chasing after a girl who had ticked her. She finally managed to tick the girl back, and remained breathless as the girl started chasing after another one.

'Don't exert yourself too much Miss Hale', remarked Sir Aldridge with a smile.

'Oh, no. I love children. I miss having them around from time to time. Many of my acquaintances in London had some already.' Children were the only reason she had thought of marriage before this year.

'Thornton, come on chap!'

Margaret and Sir Aldridge sought for the figure of Mr Thornton in the room.

Mr Gallagher pointed towards the ceiling, from which a bunch of mistletoe hung, right where Mr Thornton had been standing and Miss Latimer now stood as well.

Mrs Latimer laughed. 'Oh I do it for scenes like these.'

Kissing underneath the mistletoe would guarantee a couple good luck and a good marriage. But they were no couple. Yet to not kiss would be disastrous. An unmarried woman not kissed under the mistletoe would remain single for another year. If Mr Thornton walked away, that meant he cursed Miss Latimer.

He took her hand and Miss Latimer watched with a smile as he lifted her hand.

'I presume Mrs Thornton had no one in particular in mind when she said there have been those who tried before. She's quite subtle', remarked Margaret silently so that only Sir Aldridge and Mary could hear. Their giggling went unnoticed with the piano playing, and the men who were still conversing loudly over their cards game.

Miss Latimer couldn't be more pleased with the scheme she and her mother had devised. In her eyes, it was a definite success on her side. As she rose to pluck one of the berries from the mistletoe, she didn't notice how Mr Thornton's eyes instinctively searched for Margaret to gauge her reaction; would she be unfazed or even the slightest bit perturbed? Or would she not have seen it at all?

But his wondering was cut short when he saw her laughing happily while looking at Sir Aldridge, of course she'd pay him no mind if the kind rich London society man with whom she shared such similar experiences was here.

How foolish to think she would care for him, despite last night.

'Miss Hale, shall we sing again?' asked Sir Aldridge after they were done laughing.

'On my own? Oh no, I've had quite enough attention yesterday. Thank you.'

'Perhaps the three of us? Or more? The more the merrier. Since we're still not dancing we must sing! It is Christmas Eve after all and you, Miss Hale, are in a dire need of merriment.'

'Maestro! Music!' Declared Sir Aldridge as he stepped towards the piano.

Margaret and Mary exchanged a glance, and after an awkward smile followed the baronet.

Carols were sung, and with the antics and over exaggerations of the men who had so clearly been enjoying their drinks Margaret managed to laugh a great deal that the time she went home, the rain had abated and turned into small slowflakes again, which fell ever so subtly from the sky.

The Christmas Magic had not forsaken them after all

* * *

**From now on my chapters will be shorter 😊 **

**\- Christmas & New Year Traditions: **  
** a-regency-primer-on-christmastide-new-years/**  
** 2006/12/28/new-years-eve-traditions-some-old-some-new/ **  
**\- I've noticed I changed the spelling from Hallagher to Gallagher a couple of times, I'm sorry for it. But since the damage has been done I'll stick to Gallagher from now on. I hope you can forgive me.**  
**\- Elder Wine: which is wine made with elderberries, was made after the harvest and the first batches would be ready by Christmas. It was quite a popular drink and Jane Austen is believed to have made it herself.**

**-Reactions:**

**-Chapter 6: Sari18: Thank you! Yes Mrs Thornton finds it a bit harder to judge Margaret. I've always found it odd how Margaret has no qualms arguing with men but allows Mrs Thornton to accuse her of all kinds of things. **

**\- Chapter 6 anon from May 31st: Thank you, I hope I don't disappoint**

**-Chapter 6 anon from June 1st: Thank you, I hope you keep following. I've got lots of drama in store to pull you in even more**

**\- Chapter 7 anon from June 8th: They're very much equals, though still very different. Between Margaret who needs to learn to deal with her emotions in a mature manner and John's road ahead, they're still far from admitting that out loud I'm afraid.**

**\- Chapter 7: anon from June 11th: Thank you!**


	9. New Year's Eve

**FYI: It's a weird for me to write a New Years Party on the 4th of July as it is for you to read it probably. I should totally be writing my thesis but I get my exam results in just two hours (I'll probably have received them by the time this is published) and I need to distract my mind. Arfgh these are the last exams I'll have during my history degree, after this I only need to finish my thesis and I'll officially have my Master's Degree. I don't quite know what to do next, on the one hand I really want to doctorate but that's crazy and mentally challenging, I don't quite know if I'm up to it. I'm still doubting between doing that, getting my teacher's degree and starting a Master in Politics. However, I don't think I'll ever love something as much as History. So writing about history it is today!**

**Update: I got my grades back and it was great, I have to get a 16 out of 20 on my thesis to graduate summa cum laude which will be hard. But I'm almost guaranteed to at least get the "cum laude" part 😊**

**PS: I've only now noticed my links fell away during the publishing of the chapters. If anyone is interested just PM me 😊**

**Short shout-out to all my new readers and followers, I love you all!**

* * *

Christmas morning was a lovely calm affair, the same as it had always been back home in Helstone.

They went to the early morning mass, after which they went home and had a lovely relaxing breakfast and their traditional oranges. Dixon didn't even complain, mope or mention anything that could dampen the holiday cheer.

There weren't many gifts, yet her mother had managed to get out unnoticed once, and had succeeded in buying a book for her father, one of Schiller called "On the Aesthetic Education of Man", and Margaret was gifted two beautiful gilded hair combs with pearls. Margaret and her father had gotten her mother a lovely warm shawl in a majestic purple, something Margaret had noticed in the Thornton warehouse on the day she went with Mrs Thornton. She had later on asked her father whether it made a good gift for Mrs Hale, who seemed to suffer from a never ending chill.

Her mother and father read books in their chairs, the fireplace was roaring, and the scent of boiled pine needles perfumed the room. After the gloomy autumn and winter months Margaret was happy to have the evergreens in their dining and drawing room, their bright colour and lovely scent had an instantaneous effect on her mood whenever her eye fell on them.

As her parents read, Margaret continued to work on her yellow dress, which was coming along nicely. She was however, still quite unsure about the sleeves. She knew the most fashionable ladies were starting to sport bigger mutton-styled sleeves which accentuated the hourglass shape of the female body. For now however, Margaret was focussed on the skirt, since it was broader than usual, it demanded much more stitching.

The week was spent indoors, with only small walks for their amusement. While Margaret had been bored by Helstone's lack of company after a couple of weeks, she had also become quite overwhelmed with finding a place for herself in this new Liverpool society with all its intrigues.

A week away from the unique characters that formed her new circle did Margaret good to reflect on how she felt about each of them, and how she should approach them from now on. She also had a week to mourn Bessy's death.

On the third day of Christmas, she had lured Nicholas away from his home and brought him to her father's office after coaxing him for some time that some talking would do him good. Anything to keep him away from the alehouse, really. Dixon had protested at the shabby dockworker who had invaded their house, though Margaret knew he'd done his best to clean up as much as possible. To her surprise, Nicholas stayed in her father's office for over three hours, and left with his shoulders a good deal lighter than before. Her father didn't tell her a lot about their talk, but remarked how interesting and "most educational" it had been. Later on, out of nowhere that evening, he exclaimed how it had really put things in perspective, but what things and how,, he didn't let on.

Then January 31st came around. It was Friday night, and with an even higher working pace the last couple of days, Margaret was relieved her dress was finished in time. She had decided on larger off shoulder sleeves, but not too large. She had decorated the sleeves with pearls. A bow was placed on the front side of the sleeves, and remaining fabric and lace was used to create panelling and texture on the front side of her bodice. A nice big sash encircled her waist and was tied in a bow on the backside of her dress, from which the two ends of the sashes flowed freely to the bottom of the skirt. The inches above the bottom of her skirt were decorated with cherry coloured roses and textured thick bands of yellow fabric.

During the week of rest her face had cleared up enough so she had recovered at least a bit of her confidence and beauty. Her hair was curled and left mostly loose with the pearl combs put carefully between the wavy tresses.

Her mother was particularly enraptured by the sight of her daughter. 'My my Margaret, how beautiful you look. I can't believe you made it all by yourself. My, I could hardly tell it apart from a dress made by a seamstress!'

'Oh mama, surely you can.'

'My dear, it looks lovely. If anything those hours of feeling idle in London have given you nimble fingers. That stitching, almost untraceable! Lovely, dear. If not every single lady in the room compliments you on your dress tonight, I shall personally haunt them.'

'Haunting is for ghosts mama, and you are just in the middle of your life!' Margaret laughed, but she couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling. She felt more like she was pleading with her mother to not become a ghost at the age of forty-five.

'Are you certain you will not come with us mama? You could after all return immediately after dinner, you don't have to be up all night.'

'Oh, I'm an old woman, surely I would be in the way for you young people.'

'Mama, such nonsense, I know I would surely appreciate your presence. Besides, there are plenty of mothers and wives of about your age and even older present! Just take Mrs Thornton, she must be at least a decade older than you.'

'Well, her oldest boy is about a decade older than mine, it makes sense for her to be older. You're right of course, there are older women present.'

But her mind had slid away from worry about her age and health and the image she would send, and had transformed instead into melancholy at the thought of her eldest child.

'I miss having him around, especially during times like these when we are supposed to be together. Now he'll celebrate the coming of yet another year without us, all alone in Spain. On the one hand, my dear, I hate for him to be alone without a family, but on the other hand I can't quite stomach the idea of him finding a new family which doesn't include us.'

She was of course referring to his latest letter, in which he had mentioned a Spanish lady, a Christian, and he was to spend the holidays at her family home. Margaret and her mother didn't quite know how to take the news. She was a Christian, not a protestant. She was 21 years of age and very involved in charity, her father was a rich nobleman yet she taught classes in a primary school for village children, completely voluntarily.

He had met her father and her two brothers first. Since Frederick had set up a translating business and English translations were in high demand for reasons varying from trade, to personal correspondence, to letters of marque to prize papers from confiscated English ships from the colonies. Her father and brothers understood only a little English, but had frequent contact with English nobles who they'd befriended during their grand tours. And now Frederick found himself forming a friendship which struggled through the language barrier of his Spanish which was still mediocre after five years abroad, and their poor English. But now they were all together for the festive season and all were to learn each other's language!

The letter didn't mention any attachment between the lady and Margaret's brother, but the praising way in which he spoke of her beauty, kindness and selflessness showed an adoration that would not need more encouragement than simple proximity to turn into infatuation.

'I miss him too. But mama, we must be happy that he isn't alone tonight. It would only make us miserable to know that he is alone and friendless in this world. He's already lost any real physical closeness to us and his home country, he's had enough misfortune.'

'Yes dear, plenty of misfortune for such a young boy. Oh, it wasn't fair how they treated him. He had no choice but to revolt against his captain.'

Margaret grasped her mother's hand. 'Oh mama, please, do not be alone tonight and fret about Frederick. Come with us, drink some champagne at midnight, then let's go home. Fred's heart would break just as much if he heard you were alone tonight.'

Her mother gave her a long hard look.

'Fine. And I shall wear my new shawl!'

Margaret couldn't contain a wide toothy smile.

'A perfect idea. It will bring out the blue of your eyes perfectly.'

Dixon took her mother back to her room as she threw Margaret an amused glance which showed she couldn't quite believe she had been persuaded.

Two hours later her mother returned, her hair in a lovely pile of curls and dressed in a lilac dress. She was decorated with wonderful jewellery.

'Do I look passable? I know this dress is very much out of style.'

'Oh mama, fashion hasn't changed that much since '08. It's just the last two years or so the top elite have started dressing differently. You look splendid. The colour suits you, the dress looks expensive. And if they aren't convinced by you dress your jewellery surely will convince them you look pristine.'

One could easily wonder how a woman who looked as refined and elegant as a queen, could bring forth such a relatively plain daughter, Margaret wondered. She had such an abhorrent upper lip and upturned chin, she didn't look queenly in the slightest.

'My dear, are you coming with us?' Mr Hale asked in surprise when he entered the room.

'Margaret managed to change my mind', her mother smiled. Her husband gazed at her lovingly and pecked her cheek before looking at Margaret.

'You two look wonderful. Let's go, we mustn't insult our host by coming late.'

The Thornton household was magnificent and stately. If it stood in London, one could easily believe someone of importance lived there, instead of a merchant. Margaret started to wonder how many of her prejudices had any base in reality. How long could she maintain her dislike for merchants while living, talking and laughing with them and their families, and seeing how esteemed they were. He lived right across of a snow covered park.

Fanny and Mrs Thornton stood in the hall, welcoming the guests after they'd given their coats to the servants.

'Happy New Year's Eve, Miss Thornton and Mrs Thornton.'

'Thank you very much Mr Hale, Mrs Hale, Miss Hale. Mrs Hale, you were able to come after all?'

'I- Yes. I felt well enough to come. I hope you'll forgive me for leaving earlier though. I'm not yet in the best of health. I won't be able to make it long after midnight. I do hope that's alright?'

Mrs Thornton simply nodded and with that Fanny lead the women away to the drawing room while Mr Hale went to the sitting room reserved for the men.

Mary and Mrs Reeves remarked upon Margaret's dress and the brilliancy of its colour. Margaret thanked them and started asking them about their past week when she heard her mother talk with Mrs Thornton who had remained in the room after all guests had arrived, Mrs Gallagher and Mrs Latimer that Margaret had made the dress all by herself. Mary was just halfway past her description of her week when a gasp broke through Mary's talking.

'You didn't! Miss Hale, is it true, have you made that dress all by yourself?'

'I- Yes?

'Surely, then it is layered over an older dress?'

'No. It isn't.'

'It's a lovely silhouette though, very fashionable. Where did you get the pattern? I should pass it on to my seamstress', Mrs Latimer said. Anne Latimer bit her lip in frustration. The dress was wonderful yes, but she would much rather walk around in something less fashionable than let Miss Hale know she was the best dressed woman present. Of course, she knew her mother said those words to remind everyone that they could afford their own seamstress and could order dresses on a whim, but it wasn't worth it. Miss Hale got enough attention as it was, with her being a newcomer and all. She couldn't wait until the novelty wore off and Miss Hale was just one of the thousands of girls living in this city.

'I'm afraid I don't have any patterns. I made it myself with my own measurements. I was only ever certain of the bodice, I've changed my mind a great many times about the skirt and sleeves.'

Now Margaret had really said something, she even got the attention of Fanny.

'So you've designed and sewn the dress from scratch? With naught but the fabric? My, I believe that quite makes up for your 'mediocre' piano skills Miss Hale.'

'I've tried to make a dress once', Mary admitted as she carried the conversation away from Margaret and started telling a most amusing story which ended with stitching which closed the sleeves, many pricked fingers, bloodstains on fabric, tears of frustration and finally, an abandoned project. Then Mrs Reeves told a successful story of her making chemises and baby clothes, Fanny successfully attaching new lace and Mrs Gallagher successfully and unsuccessfully dying some of her dresses.

But how idle it was, discussions about making clothes to make them a la mode or trying to occupy their abundance of free time. Margaret dreamt away, imagining what kind of interesting conversations the men downstairs might have. She simply wanted to break free of women prattle to listen, even without understanding the men. Most of them were so honest, practical and plain, so unlike their women, who appeared to be very similar to the London women. Indeed, most of these had at least some knowledge of business, but when left in exclusively female company their topics never went beyond household things: dresses, fashion, music, theatre, art, new dishes, china, porcelain, books meant exclusively for a female readership, the education of the children. Dull conversations of prosperous women who had little to do in life but raise their children and manage their household. She thought of Bessy, who had taken an interest in pretty dresses but who she couldn't imagine talking about such things for more than ten minutes. She thought of the girl whose family Frederick was currently spending his evening with, who helped her community despite not having to, and she thought of herself skipping through Helstone and visiting her father's parishioners. At least they had the moral strength to rebel against the system which was locking them up in gilded cages, needing them not to be educated or knowledgeable but happy housewives who didn't ask difficult questions. Did these women not have a human interest? Or even an intellectual one? Did their concerns really not go beyond their own family and their direct acquaintances? Were they a subject to their fate?

Was Margaret to become like them?

She suddenly thought of Mr Thornton. Everything indicated his father was a gambling man while Mr Thornton was in school. He couldn't have possibly gotten a good moral example or a good education about how to live. Underneath the age of sixteen, all rich children were kept unaware and unknowing, just like women, about the business of their father and their duty. Just like they were kept unaware of poverty. They simply didn't understand work, or the working classes. Margaret had noticed that plenty of times in London. Society didn't take kindly to people trying to rise above their station. Not even when they were previously of a higher station. He had rebelled, he had risen above his station. And he'd come to care for the well-being of his employers, though he still had a long road ahead as far as Margaret was concerned.

He had done it. But she was no man. She didn't have the same options. Yet had these women not done it? She was educated. She was knowledgeable, and if she wanted to, she could try and use some of her connections. Whether it would be a way out of seemingly unavoidable traps of middle class womanhood she didn't know.

Dinner was called and passed in a breeze without a fight or argument. The men looked dashing, the women charming, and everyone's overall mood had advanced greatly now that they'd had a week to recuperate sleep after months of working.

The servants lead the ladies and gentlemen towards the ballroom. It wasn't overly large, but it had some nice painted panels with idyllic scenes on them, and the left side was decorated with large mirrors. It was much more than Margaret was expecting to find in Liverpool. Instruments had been placed in the room and many quadrilles were danced, other dances as well, of course. Margaret was passed on from person to person. From Mr Ball, to Sir Aldridge, to Mr Gallagher jr. , To Mr Reeves, Mr Ball again, and even Mr Thornton.

It was only when their hands connected that she realized they hadn't even exchanged words yet.

'Mr Thornton.'

'Miss Hale.'

'It's a lovely party', she managed to say before they were broken apart.

'Thank you, my mother has outdone herself.'

'She has.'

They split up again as Margaret and the woman to her left exchanged placed. She stepped towards the other male, circled around him and stepped back. Now Mr Thornton changed places with the man and they were reunited again.

'Did you have a good week?'

'Excellent, did you?'

'Yes.'

'Your mother is getting better?'

She was silent for a while, debating whether she should underplay her suspicions about her mother's illness, lie that she was getting better, or tell the truth and risk worrying him.

In the end she couldn't stomach a lie.

'No, but she felt well enough tonight. I convinced her to come. I didn't want her to be alone.'

He nodded gravely.

'I am glad she was well enough, and that you could convince her. No one should be alone, and we have plenty of food.'

'Incredibly so. I believe I'm going to be sick tomorrow. We've all eaten so much and meanwhile… No, I shan't start about it tonight. Or everyone will say: there is Miss Hale again. She can never manage to survive a night without insulting us.'

She'd hoped it would cause him to laugh, but she only got a faint pained smile.

'It is decadent, I won't deny it. And I know many aren't paying their men as much as they should right now. However, I can't tell another man how to conduct his business as that undermines their autonomy and freedom. I wouldn't want their advice unless asked either. You however, have made your stance more than clear, yet they didn't listen.'

'I'm a woman. Everything I say is useless.'

'A smart man knows the value of a woman's advice.'

Margaret's mouth fell open in surprise. What did he mean. Was he talking about himself and his mother? He must be. She offered him a smile before the song ended.

Servants came in with trays of champagne. Mr Thornton looked at his watch and Margaret instinctively leaned towards him to see the hour.

'Two minutes.'

She smiled at him and took a glass of champagne.

'To the hall!' Fanny yelled. The company of thirty people migrated towards the hall as the servants started counting. Margaret didn't understand what they were doing or where they were going so she followed Mr Thornton since he, as the master of the house, must surely know what to do.

"Ten, nine, …"

They came to a sudden standstill in front of the door. Margaret bumped against him and he spilled some of his champagne. He turned to look over his shoulder and she shot him an apologetic smile.

"Five, four."

Oh, he was going to open the door. Now she understood. There hadn't been a hall in her Hellstone home.

"Two, one."

Mr Thornton swung open the door as cheers erupted and everyone started smashing their glasses together and wishing each other a happy new year.

Looking around, everyone seemed busy and involved with someone else already.

The soft click of the door being shut took her attention back to the tall form in front of her. Standing tall in the dimly lit hall, Mr Thornton's intimidating presence had as much effect on her heart as ever, which beat rapidly. Yet, she knew she wasn't afraid of him. What was it about him that made her heart beat so?

'Happy New Year, Miss Hale, may your year bring joy and health to all in your family.'

The words were generic enough, but in the context of the current situation with her father's doubts, her mother's illness and her mixed feelings about the move to Liverpool, they warmed her heart.

She ticked her glass against his raised one.

'Happy New Year, Mr Thornton. May all your ventures be successful and you and your family happy.'

As much as she loathed certain aspects of trade, Mr Thornton was his business. His business was his money, his money was his means to provide comfort for his mother and sister, and his pride was directly connected to his business. And she couldn't possibly wish him ill, he'd fought too hard for what he had to have it stripped away from him.

As they walked back towards the ballroom, Mrs Thornton appeared on his other side.

'Happy Birthday, son-'

She was ready to say more when she noticed Margaret and decided to keep her wishes for a more private moment. His mother upped her pace and quickly entered the ballroom.

'It's your birthday?'

'Yes. Thirty-two years ago my mother spent the whole night suffering through childbirth while the rest of the world was celebrating.'

'Brave woman.'

'She is.'

'Normally large birthday parties are reserved for aristocracy but you managed to find a way to have one.'

'Yes, it's very much like my mother to time it thus. It's all been strategically planned for the purpose of me having a reason to drink on my birthday.'

'I have no doubt about it', Margaret laughed as she took another ship.

'Should I pass you another well wish or should I just grant you a wish you can fill in as you like in your head?'

Had she just asked that question out loud? Oh heavens, she really needed to start cutting down her alcohol usage during parties.

'I shall make note that you intended to wish me well but have left the particulars of that wish up to me. Now I shall be forced to succeed, enjoy and excel at whatever I do so that the wish will come true.'

'Ah, but that would indicate the wish is something you can bring to a good end yourself.'

'Most wishes are wishes the person can realize themselves. Let's take yours as an example: success in my ventures. That is up to me. They will be successful if I choose them well and work hard. Happiness is a mindset one has to have.'

'But it's not all up to you, there's other people and there's fate. If other people don't do their part in the arrangements you make, your organisation and planning alone won't bring you the result you want. Or what if one of the captains gets caught in a storm, you don't control the weather. Like you said, you can limit the amount of things that can go wrong, but you never control all variables. As for happiness? I don't belief an individual is able to achieve that without others, humans are social beings by nature. With my wish, I wished for fate to be kind to you and cooperate, and for humans to be friendly and honest.'

The starting notes of old lang syne and singing voices started coming from the ballroom.

'Thank you, I will grant it to you that you are correct this time. I shall see how I may best use your second wish.'

* * *

\- "On the Aesthetic Education of Man" is a work by Schiller first published in 1794 on beauty, the sublime, art and nature. Personally I have a distaste for the format and find it incohesive and confusing, but in the 19th century letter-novels, letters and letterbooks were quite popular, and the writing will probably feel a whole lot more understandable for contemporary readers of that time. Mr Hale is an intellectual and I have no doubt that despite North and South's main focus on religion and roman classics, he would be interested in topics such as why we admire the things we admire.

\- Since Mrs Hale is a lady she would have married young. And since it was clear that she and Mr Hale had a love match, they must have happily shared the bed. A young woman would have gotten pregnant quite quickly. So that's why I guess Mrs Hale married at 19, conceived Frederick at 20, and Margaret at 25. Frederick will turn 26, Margaret will turn 20 and Mrs Hale will/should turn 46 in 1825. There's 6 years between Thornton and Frederick. Thornton quit the navy in '15 but Frederick was only 16 back then, which would have been too early to join. He only entered the navy in '17

\- The opening of the door was an old tradition to "let in the New Year".

So two ironic statements in this chapter knowing the fate of two of the main characters, but I couldn't let the opportunity pass to poke fun at the overall misery of North and South.


	10. The Ghost of Death

New Year passed and 1925, at the start at least, promised little change.

They were still living in Liverpool, her father continued his sessions with his pupils, and Margaret's mother remained ill. It had been two months now, and Margaret started to wonder whether her mother's complaints would ever pass.

She kept an eye on her at all times, and since Bessy's death she kept more to her house, trying to be in her mother's neighbourhood as much as her list of chores allowed. It was a comfort to her that her mother drew more tenderly and intimately towards her than she had ever donce since the days of her childhood, and her efforts were rewarded by Mrs Hale taking her to her heart as a confidential post, a post Margaret had craved to fill and had envied Dixon for filling up until now. All unconsciously Margaret drew near to a reward by dutifully doing her chores and keeping Mrs Hale company.

One evening, Mr. Hale being absent, her mother began to talk to her about her brother Frederick, the very subject on which Margaret had longed to ask questions, and almost the only one on which her timidity overcame her natural openness. The more she wanted to hear about him, the less likely she was to speak.

'Oh, Margaret, it was so windy last night! It came howling down the chimney in our room! I could not sleep. I never can when there is such a terrible wind. I got into a wakeful habit when  
poor Frederick was at sea; and now, even if I don't waken all at once, I dream of him in some stormy sea, with great, clear, glass-green walls of waves on either side his ship, but far higher than her very masts, curling over her with that cruel, terrible white foam, like some gigantic crested serpent. It is an old dream, but it always comes back on windy nights, till I am thankful to waken, sitting straight and stiff up in bed with my terror. Poor Frederick! He is on land now, so wind can do him no harm. Though I did think it might shake down some of those tall chimneys.'

'Where is Frederick now, mamma? Our letters are directed to the care of Messrs. Barbour, at Cadiz, I know; but where is he himself?'

'I can't remember the name of the place, but he is not called Hale; you must remember that, Margaret. Notice the F. D. in every corner of the letters. He has taken the name of Dickenson. I wanted him to have been called Beresford, to which he had a kind of right, but your father thought he had better not. He might be recognised, you know, if he were called by my name.'

'Mamma,' said Margaret, 'I was at Aunt Shaw's when it all happened; and I suppose I was not old enough to be told plainly about it. But I should like to know now, if I may and if it does not give you too much pain to speak about it.'

'Pain! No,' replied Mrs. Hale, her cheek flushing. 'Yet it is pain to think that perhaps I may never see my darling boy again. Or else he did right, Margaret. They may say what they like, but I have his own letters to show, and I'll believe him, though he is my son, sooner than any court-martial on earth. Go to my little Japan cabinet, dear, and in the second left-hand drawer you will find a packet of letters.'

Margaret went. There were the yellow, sea-stained letters, with the peculiar fragrance which ocean letters have: Margaret carried them back to her mother, who untied the silken string with trembling fingers, and, examining their dates, she gave them to Margaret to read, making her hurried, and gave anxious remarks on their contents, almost before her daughter could have understood what they were about.

'You see, Margaret, how from the very first he disliked Captain Reid. He was second lieutenant in the ship called Orion in which Frederick sailed the very first time. Poor little fellow, how well he looked in his midshipman's dress, with his dirk in his hand, cutting open all the newspapers with it as if it were a paper-knife! But this Mr. Reid, as he was then, seemed to take a dislike to Frederick from the very beginning.'

'And then…these are the letters he wrote on board The Russell. When he was appointed to her, and found his old enemy Captain Reid in command, he did mean to bear all his tyranny patiently. Look! This is the letter. Just read it, Margaret. Where is it he says 'my father may rely upon me, that I will bear with all proper patience everything that one officer and gentleman can take from another. But from my former knowledge of my present captain, I confess I look forward with apprehension to a long course of tyranny on board the Russell.' '

She took the letters from Margaret and handed her the one she was talking about.

'You see, he promises to bear patiently, and I am sure he did, for he was the sweetest-tempered boy, when he was not vexed, that could possibly be. Is that the letter in which he speaks of Captain Reid's impatience with the men, for not going through the ship's manoeuvres as quickly as the Avenger? You see, he says that they had many new hands on board the Russell, while the Avenger had been nearly three years on the station, with nothing to do but to keep slavers off, and work her men, till they ran up and down the rigging like rats or monkeys.'

Margaret slowly read the letter, half illegible through the fading of the ink. It might be a statement of Captain Reid's imperiousness in trifles which was very much exaggerated by the narrator, who had written it while fresh and warm from the scene of altercation. Some sailors being aloft in the main-topsail rigging, the captain had ordered them to race down, threatening the hindmost with the cat-of-nine-tails. He who was the farthest on the spar, feeling the impossibility of passing his companions, and yet passionately dreading the disgrace of the flogging, threw himself desperately down to catch a rope considerably lower, failed, and fell senseless on deck. He only survived for a few hours afterwards, and the indignation of the ship's crew was at boiling point when her brother wrote about it.

'But we did not receive this letter till long, long after we heard of the mutiny. Poor Fred! I dare say it was a comfort to him to write it even though he could not have known how to send it, poor fellow! And then we saw a report in the papers that's to say, long before Fred's letter reached us of an atrocious mutiny having broken out on board the Russell, and that the mutineers had remained in possession of the ship, which had gone off. It was supposed to be a pirate and that Captain Reid was sent adrift in a boat with some men, officers, whose names were all given, for they were picked up by another boat of the fleet. Oh, Margaret! how your father and I turned sick over that list, when there was no name of Frederick Hale. We thought it must be some mistake; for poor Fred was such a fine fellow, only perhaps rather too passionate; and we hoped that the name of Carr, which was in the list, was a misprint for that of Hale since newspapers are so careless. And towards post-time the next day, papa set off to walk to Southampton to get the papers; and I could not stop at home, so I went to meet him. He was very late, much later than I thought he would have been; and I sat down under the hedge to wait for him. He came at last, his arms hanging loose down, his head sunk, and walking heavily along, as if every step was a labour and a trouble. Margaret, I see him now.'

'Don't go on, mamma. I can understand it all,' said Margaret, leaning up caressingly against her mother's side, and kissing her hand. Finally she'd gotten answers. And though she knew that mutiny meant hanging, she was proud that her brother had done the right thing, standing up for the crew in the face of tyranny.

'No, you can't, Margaret. No one can who did not see him then. I could hardly lift myself up to go and meet him. Everything seemed so to reel around me all at once. And when I got to him, he did not speak, or seem surprised to see me there, more than three miles from home. He put my arm in his, and kept stroking my hand, as if he wanted to soothe me to be very quiet under some great heavy blow; and when I trembled so all over that I could not speak, he took me in his arms, and stooped down his head on mine, and began to shake and to cry. I begged him to tell me what he had heard. And then he gave me a wicked newspaper to read, calling our Frederick a "traitor of the blackest dye," "a base, ungrateful disgrace to his profession." Oh! I cannot tell what bad words they did not use. I took the paper in my hands as soon as I had read it and I tore it up to little bits. I believe Margaret, I tore it with my teeth. I did not cry. Months after, this letter came, and you see what provocation Frederick had. It was not for himself, or his own injuries, he rebelled; but he would speak his mind to Captain Reid, and so it went on from bad to worse; and you see, most of the sailors stuck by Frederick.'

Her mother appeared exhausted remembering the emotions of that traumatizingly painful moment.  
'I think, Margaret, I am glad of it. I am prouder of Frederick standing up against injustice, than if he had been simply a good officer.'

'I am sure I am,' said Margaret, in a firm, decided tone. 'Loyalty and obedience to wisdom and justice are fine; but it is still finer to defy arbitrary power, unjustly and cruelly used not on behalf of ourselves, but on behalf of others more helpless.'

'For all that, I wish I could see Frederick once more, just once. He was my first baby, Margaret.' Mrs Hale spoke wistfully, and almost as if apologising for the yearning, craving wish, as though longing for Frederick meant that she didn't love her still present child enough. But such an idea never crossed Margaret's mind. She was thinking how her mother's desire could be fulfilled.

'It is five or six years ago. Would they still prosecute him, mother? If he came and stood his trial, what would be the punishment? Surely, he might bring evidence of his great provocation.'

'It would do no good,' replied Mrs. Hale. 'Some of the sailors who accompanied Frederick were taken, and there was a court-martial held on them on board the Amicia; I believed all  
they said in their defence, poor fellows, because it just agreed with Frederick's story but it was of no use.'

Now tears were finally streaming down Mrs Hale's cheeks. Imagining what was to happen to her son if he were to return, remembering some of the weeping mothers whose sons had been tried. Something possessed Margaret to force the information she foresaw, yet dreaded, from her mother.

'What happened to them, mamma?' asked she.  
'They were hung at the yard-arm,' said Mrs. Hale, solemnly. 'And the worst was that the court, in condemning them to death, said they had suffered themselves to be led astray from their duty by their superior officers.'

They were silent for a long time.

'And Frederick was in South America for several years, was he not?'

'Yes. And now he is in Spain. At Cadiz, or somewhere near it. If he comes to England he will be hung. I shall never see his face again for if he comes to England he will be hung.'

**X.X.X.**

From that day forwards Mrs. Hale became more and more of a suffering invalid.

Margaret looked back at the past 6 months' accumulated heap of troubles, and she wondered how they had been borne. If she could have anticipated them, how she would have shrunk away and hid herself from the coming time had she known of what was to come! And yet day by day had, of itself, and by itself, been very endurable small, keen, bright little spots of positive enjoyment having come sparkling into the very middle of sorrows.

When she first went to Helstone, and first became silently conscious of the querulousness in her mother's temper, she would have groaned bitterly over the idea of a long illness to be borne in a strange, desolate, noisy, busy place, with diminished comforts on every side of the home life. But with the increase of serious and just ground of complaint, a new kind of patience had sprung up in her mother's mind. She was gentle and quiet in intense bodily suffering, almost in proportion as she had been restless and depressed when there had been no real cause for grief.

Mr. Hale was in exactly that stage of apprehension wherein he tried to turn a wilful blindness to his wife's health. He was more irritated than Margaret had ever known him at his daughter's expressed anxiety.

'Indeed, Margaret, you are growing fanciful! God knows I should be the first to take the alarm if your mother were really ill. We always saw when she had her headaches at Helstone, even without her telling us. She looks quite pale and white when she is ill and now she has a bright healthy colour in her cheeks, just as she used to have when I first knew her.'

'But, papa,' said Margaret, with hesitation, 'do you know, I think that is the flush of pain.'

' I tell you, you are too fanciful. You are the person not well, I think. Send for the doctor tomorrow for yourself and then, if it will make your mind easier, he can see your mother. But you are the one who has been growing pale and faint. You've been falling asleep in the couch during the evening hours, going to bed earlier every month, losing weight. And I have noticed your lack of focus and waning lust for knowledge and discussion.'

Her father was indeed unaware that Margaret had simply been taking on many of the chores in the household, and had been much more busy caring and worrying for her mother and the poor people of Liverpool she barely had any time for herself. At night she lay awake, thinking of Mary's impending marriage, and her own future life. Her nights were restless, and she often lay awake feeling cold for the first two hours of being in bed since she didn't want any wood to be wasted on her room. Wood was expensive, and her mother needed the heat more in her drawing room and bedroom.

She was still young, she could easily deal with a few more worries and less comfort.

'Thank you, dear papa. It will make me happier, indeed.' And she went up to him to kiss him. But he pushed her away gently enough, but still as if she had suggested unpleasant ideas, which he should be glad to get rid of as readily as he could of her presence. He walked uneasily up and down the room.

'Poor Maria!' said he, half soliloquising, 'I wish one could do right without sacrificing others. I shall hate this town, and myself too, if she… Pray, Margaret, does your mother often talk to you of the old places of Helstone, I mean?'

'No, papa,' said Margaret, sadly.

'Then, you see, she can't be fretting after them, eh? It has always been a comfort to me to think that your mother was so simple and open that I knew every little grievance she had. She never would conceal anything seriously affecting her health from me: would she, eh, Margaret? I am quite sure she would not. So don't let me hear of these foolish morbid ideas. Come, give me a kiss, and run off to bed.'

But she heard him pacing about — racooning, as she and Edith used to call it — long after her slow and languid undressing was finished.

The next day Mrs Hale was unable to leave her room and everyone was worried now. Dr Donaldson was fetched now solely for Mrs Hale, but he seemed to be unable to offer many solutions. Margaret stayed up till long after what had become her new curfew, but had to finally accept she wouldn't see her mother better by the time she went to bed, and so she allowed her father to convince her to go to bed.

But Margaret could not catch sleep. She kept hearing her father's steps. He could not settle to anything that evening. He was continually going backwards and forwards, on laborious tiptoe, to see if his wife was still asleep. Margaret's heart ached at his restlessness, his trying to stifle and strangle the hideous fear that was looming out of the dark places of his heart. He came back to Margaret's bedroom somewhat comforted.

'She's awake now, Margaret. She quite smiled as she saw me standing by her. Just her old smile. And she says she feels refreshed, and ready for tea. Where's the note for her? She wants to see it. I'll read it to her while you make tea.'

The note proved to be a formal invitation from Sir Aldridge, to invite Mr, Mrs, and Miss Hale to a goodbye dinner held for all the trading company owners who were about to set out , on the twenty-first of February. Margaret was surprised to find an acceptance contemplated by Mrs Hale. The idea of her husband's and daughter's going to this dinner had quite captivated Mrs. Hale's fancy, even before Margaret had heard the contents of the note. It was an event to diversify the monotony of the invalid's life and she clung to the idea of their going, with even fretful pertinacity when  
Margaret objected.

She refused to let her illness keep her daughter from going to an event. She knew she would have longed to go back when she was a young maiden. And she knew there would be handsome bachelors and hoped that the more they saw Margaret, the more they would be convinced of her merits.

Now that she was convinced of her own mortality and quickly approaching death, she was set on having her daughter married before she died. The only thing she wished to see, if she couldn't see her son again, was to see her daughter at the altar.

'Nay, Margaret? If she wishes it, I'm sure we'll both go willingly. She never would wish it unless she felt herself really stronger, really better than we thought she was, eh, Margaret?' said Mr. Hale, anxiously, as Mrs Hale prepared to write the note of acceptance the next day.

'Eh! Margaret?' questioned he, with a nervous motion of his hands. It seemed cruel to refuse him the comfort he craved for. And besides, his passionate refusal to admit the existence of fear, almost inspired Margaret herself with hope.

'I do think she is better since last night,' said she. 'Her eyes look brighter, and her complexion clearer.'

'It was so sultry everyone felt ill yesterday, I think. It was a most unlucky day for Mr. Donaldson to see her on. You know she falls ill quite quickly, but I'm sure she would've been able to get through it on her own in due time. Right?'

But the scare had a lasting impact on Mr Hale. And Margaret was determined the sight of her brother might restore Mrs Hale health and cheer, and could help her a great deal. And so a letter was written and sent, of which she only informed her father afterwards.

'You shouldn't have. I wished you hadn't. It would bring great danger to bring him here, and he shall be determined to come. But maybe it will be a good thing for us. I am glad you hadn't informed me, I would have kept you from doing so. But now that it is done, I am glad.'

* * *

It's been a bit longer since the last update: I've had a holiday for the first time in 2 years and we went to Cyprus. Words can't describe how much I love the place. Pafos was amazing, stunningly beautiful and if I could, I would take the story there immediately.

Now about this chapter, this pretty much follows the "Ghost of Death" chapter from the North and South book with little deviation. My story still follows most of the main plotlines after all, but I can tell you right now we will see a great deal more of Frederick in this story!

Now, I've got some small things to talk about

1) This story now has a playlist you can listen to on youtube. I shall list the songs and when I used them while writing up until this chapter. The songs I won't discuss I used while writing out later chapters. I'll share the moments I used them while writing in those upcoming chapters. Until then you can enjoy the soundtrack and guess the song meanings.

You can simply search for it on youtube: Pride and Power playlist BelgianBisous, or use the next link while replacing the (dots) with actual dots. w w (dotttt) com (slash) playlist?list= PLlIRK2RBX-FJeHi5LyYseqomPv6zzLiU-

2) I'm thinking about writing a story about Margaret Dashwood(S&S) after this one, I'm thinking about a romance with Col. Fitzwilliam Darcy (P&P). It would contain crossover elements between Pride & Prejudice and Sense & Sensibility (both are written around the same time) and minor Persuasion crossover elements (and maybe some other Austen books as well) without breaking canon. Margaret was said to, even when mature, never getting the same amount of sense as her sisters. She also has a great sense of adventure. I've never gravitated towards heroines whose minds work very different from mine but a story with her as a protagonist in which she tries to have her great adventures sounds amazing. What do you guys/girls/x think?


	11. The Pillage

Music to put on while reading: "Light of the Seven" & "The Night Kind" of Ramin Djawadi

* * *

_'My heart revolts within me, and two voices  
Make themselves audible within my bosom.'  
\- _WALLENSTEIN.

'But mama, if you had such a poor rest I am more than willing to fetch that water matrass Mrs Thornton offered you some time ago.'

'Oh Margaret, you needn't do it. It's still so cold outside, pray, the snow has only started melting some days ago. I still see puddles everywhere. And I heard Dixon mention that she almost slipped on the pavement one morning, since some of the snow had melted the day earlier but the water had become snow overnight!'

'I'll be perfectly fine mama, must I remind you that I have been out this week? I was alright then, and I will be again today. Please, allow me to help you.'

And so Margaret put on her coat, shawl, bonnet and gloves to keep off the cold. She still bid her parents goodbye, her heart touched when she saw her mother sitting in her comfortable chair, with her hand lying in her husband's, who looked more worn and suffering than she by far. Still, he could smile now, albeit faintly, but a smile it was – one Margaret had thought she wouldn't see again.

The freezing winds cut her face the second she stepped out, turning her nose red and painfully raising the hairs on her arms. Yet she refused to be a delicate maiden about the inconvenience. She had a task and she was going to fulfil it!

The walk to the Thornton house was only a thirty minute walk, maybe even quicker if she walked a little bit faster. She had to go through some streets which lead to rougher streets but she didn't really mind. She had come to be used to it. Yet she wasn't as familiar with the streets as a local, therefor she saw each oddity as a local thing she hadn't yet encountered before.

The first mile and a half of her journey she didn't notice anything in particular, so occupied was she by her own thoughts.

First about her mother, then about the upcoming party and then – towards Thornton. Oh she couldn't even understand why, without any intention, he sneaked into her mind all the time. She supposed it was because she couldn't figure him out. She'd always had an excellent understanding of everyone and a quick mind. She was usually so decided. Yet, she had decided on what she thought of Mr Thornton the day she met him, and had consequently been proven wrong. Who was he? And why did her mind seem to care so much? He was her father's favourite pupil, but he was only one of the many male acquaintances she had here. True, she had argued with him more than she had with any other man, but it hardly made him more important. She didn't quite know what to make of Mary's fiancé either, yet he wasn't as present in her mind.

Analysing her own mind, and the events of the past few months, she had been oblivious to the groups of people gathered at every street corner and bar.

But by and by, she was struck with an unsual heaving among the mass of people in the crowded road in which she suddenly found herself. They did not appear to be moving on, so much as talking, listening and buzzing. An excitement hung in the air, as thick and heavy as the gloomy clouds obstructing the sun today.

Although she noticed it, she was less quick of observation than she might have been, if her mind had been at ease. But right before she had to turn left and start going towards the park region where the Thornton's resided, she became fully aware of the restless, oppressive sense of irritation amongst the people.

There was a distinct thunderous atmosphere, both morally and physically, around her. The buzzing and humming drew her in, just like so many others. Groups of people were walking, she didn't know where to, but she was drawn along in the stream. All mindlessly yet instinctively moving towards a goal like salmon swimming their way upriver in September. From every narrow street seemed to come voices now. The sound increased as she got closer to the mysterious destination.

The inhabitants of every poor squalid dwelling were gathered at doors and windows, the old widows with their caps stood in front of their windows, children gazing through the windows on their tippy toes.

She wasn't supposed to be here. An uncomfortable anxious feeling which grew every second, yet she was getting closer now, and now that she'd gotten this far, her mind simply had to be rewarded with the knowledge of what was happening. The toxic combination of fear, curiousity and anticipation that so many people experienced right before disaster struck had taken control of her body.

Light started flooding the dark narrow street. On a technical level, Margaret knew where they had been heading. She had a general understanding of the city pattern to know they were walking towards the harbour, yet her mind had blocked off the possible implications of that fact.

They were heading towards the harbour. A large, frustrated mob. The company boats lay there. The first boats had finally managed to enter the harbour an hour ago at the cusp of dawn. All the company owners or the high functionaries of their businesses were there. They'd been sorting through the paperwork of the freshly arrived boats. Though they had yet to see their harbour to start unloading. The ships had come in unannounced, the only notification they got was from the lighthouse keeper who sent messengers to the company owners. Though fearing some kind of disturbance, they had tried calming themselves with the fact that the workday didn't start until 8.30, and would wait for their employees to arrive until then.

But now they had arrived.

In big angry numbers. Demanding blood for the reduced paycheck, the unemployment, and the deaths of the elderly and young ones who hadn't been strong enough to make it through winter without heating or enough food.

The harbour was ominously still and the sudden change of sound left Margaret's ears buzzing; all these circumstances forced themselves on Margaret's notice. How had she failed to realize the meaning of this mob before? She hadn't fully realized what they meant-what was their deep significance. She had been preoccupied with the keen sharp pressure of the knife that was soon to stab her through and through by leaving her motherless. She was trying to realise that, in order that, when it came, she might be ready to comfort her father.

But now, she realized other men might be in need of her help.

Here were the fathers of her friends, who themselves were her acquaintances as well. Mr Ball and Mr Thornton could be here too. Did they know?

Margaret broke away from the mindless state which had brought her here, scanning the horizon. Four ships far away from each other. Two ships from one company, and two ships each belonging to a different company. She didn't understand the harbour lay-out and didn't know who resided where.

What would the mob do? Could she help?

Looking around she saw even more people streaming out of the streets, puddling down in the harbour. She had to go. Go where? To the ships? She couldn't return, the streets were blocked now.

The anxiety within her rose as she passed dozens of people. Were they all going to storm the ships? "Raid" them as someone had said? Or would they watch on as some of the men attacked them?

She couldn't blame them, she really couldn't. She had said herself that their wages were low while food was sparse. She herself had expressed disgust when Slickson decided to stop paying some of them until trade started again. She had known how the reduced wages would hurt the families. Yet now she saw their large overpowering numbers, against the three unfortunate companies whose ships had arrived first, how unfair all of it was. They were going to raid the first few companies who had fresh goods, no matter whether their companies were the ones responsible for their misery. She thought of Gallagher and Thornton who hadn't done anything wrong.

Could these people not see that violence wasn't the solution? If these companies didn't deliver the goods, their companies would suffer. And if the companies suffered – so would the employees.

They were only going to hurt themselves. She finally broke through the forefront. She had never seen a ship up close. Bending her neck to look at the top and sails she felt overwhelmed and small. The vast solid mass of it was so astounding she barely noticed the man in black looking down from the deck.

'Margaret! What are you doing there!'

John Thornton had been quietly talking with the captain about their journey, and their monthlong wait in an Irish port, waiting for the ice to thaw when a sailor had called them to the deck. It was past eight but the harbour was still quiet, an oddity, as there were always a good amount of workers already present on any other given day.

And then the noise coming from the streets had hit him. He'd sent out a fast running sailor to alert the nearby stationed military, but they wouldn't get here within the hour. He'd watched the people arriving with helpless dread.

But he wasn't frightened until he suddenly noticed the figure of Margaret Hale breaking through the mob, and fear was upon him instantly. It made him forget any decorum and etiquette.

The sound of his well-known and commanding voice made her look up.

Hitherto they had been voiceless, wordless, needing all their breath for their efforts to keep their resolve. But now, upon hearing all the captains and company owners starting to threaten them from their ships, they set up such a fierce unearthly groan, that even Margaret, who had been too swept up in it all to feel fear, had become white.

'Quick! A ladder!'

The wooden ladder which had been removed to keep people from entering, was fetched again, and Margaret Hale was ushered on boat with an intense urgency.

He came towards a little flushed, but his eyes gleaming, as in answer to the trumpet-call of danger, and with a proud look of defiance on his face, that made him a noble, if not a handsome man. Margaret had always dreaded lest her courage should fail her in any emergency, and she should be proved to be, what she dreaded lest she was: a coward. But now, in this real great time of reasonable fear and nearness of terror, she forgot herself, and felt only an intense sympathy, in the interests of the moment.

Mr. Thornton came frankly forwards her:

'I'm sorry, Miss Hale, I don't know what brought you to the harbour at this unfortunate moment, when, I fear, you may be involved in whatever risk we have to bear. Today is a dangerous day indeed. I'm not sure whether they will attempt a raid; but in any case, you will be safer here than there. I have called for the military. We need only wait until they arrive and chase away these… stupid people. They think they can just steal what they need instead of earning it with proper work. They think their problems will be solved. Yes, in their eyes it must be easy: we should just hand them everything. But that's not possible and that is not how the world works.'

Mr. Thornton smiled scornfully as he heard the people. He glanced at Margaret, standing all by herself at the front, meekly looking at the poor people down below. Her eyes glittered, her colour was deepened on cheek and lip. As if she felt his look, she turned to him and asked a  
question that had been for some time in her mind:

'What with the poor people on this boat?'

'They are stuck. By the time we noticed the people coming from the streets we couldn't leave the ship anymore. However, rest assured miss Hale, all the windows have been shut. These men are used to sailing the Southern Atlantic and the Indian Ocean. They have dealt with armed pirates before, these are unarmed beggars. But it is not them-it is me they want.'

'When can the soldiers be here?' asked the captain, in a low but not unsteady voice. He still feared they would start throwing burning whiskey onto the ship, lighting the sails and burning down the whole thing with them in it. Such a vivid possibility hadn't even formed itself in Margaret's and John's heads.

He took out his watch with the same measured composure with which he did everything. He made some little calculation:

'Supposing Williams got straight off when I told him, and dodge about amongst them - it must be twenty minutes yet.'

'Oh, God!' cried Margaret, suddenly; 'there is Boucher. I know his face, though he is livid with rage, he is fighting to get to the front. Look! look!'

'Who is Boucher?' asked Mr. Thornton, coolly, and coming close to the window to discover the man in whom Margaret took such an interest. As soon as they saw Mr. Thornton, they set up a yell, to call it not human is nothing, it was as the demoniac desire of some terrible wild beast for the food that is withheld from his ravening. Even he drew hack for a moment, dismayed at the intensity of hatred he had provoked.

'Let them yell!' said he. 'In five minutes more. Keep up your courage for five minutes, Miss  
Hale.'

'Don't be afraid for me,' she said hastily. 'But what in five minutes? Can you do nothing to soothe these poor creatures? It is awful to see them.'

'The soldiers will be here directly, and that will bring them to reason.'

'To reason!' said Margaret, quickly. 'What kind of reason?'

'The only reason that does with men that make themselves into wild beasts. By heaven! they're jumping for the ships!'

And indeed, they were starting to try and climb the ships. Some falling into the water, some using two pickaxes to get towards the deck.

'Mr. Thornton,' said Margaret, shaking all over with her passion, 'come forward if you are not a coward. Face them like a man. Save these poor strangers, whom you have decoyed here. Speak to your workmen as if they were human beings. Speak to them kindly. Don't let the soldiers come in and cut down poor-creatures who are driven mad. I see one there who is. If you have any courage or noble quality in you, go out and speak to  
them, man to man.'

He turned and looked at her while she spoke. A dark cloud came over his face while he listened. He set his teeth as he heard her words.

'I will go.' And as he walked from the steer towards where the mob of protesters were gathered in front of the boat, Margaret started doubting the smartness of her words.

'Oh! Mr. Thornton! I do not know, I may be wrong, only…'

Margaret located herself more towards the rear end of the ship, but leaned against the railing to look at the reaction of the people.

Many in the crowd were mere boys; cruel and thoughtless,-cruel because they were thoughtless; some were men, gaunt as wolves, and mad for prey. She knew how it was; they were like Boucher, with starving children at home. They were relying on ultimate success in their efforts to get higher wages, and enraged beyond measure that owners like Slickson cut down their employees, bereaving their little ones of bread.

Margaret knew it all; she read it in Boucher's face, forlornly desperate and livid with rage. If Mr. Thornton would but say something to them, let them hear his voice only, it seemed as if it would be better than this wild beating and raging against the wooden silence of waves beating against wood that vouchsafed them. no word, even of anger or reproach. But perhaps he was speaking now; there was a momentary hush of their noise, inarticulate as that of a troop of animals.

She tore her bonnet off; and bent forwards to hear.

The crew was playing cards downstairs, bored and just waiting for the soldiers to arrive. Only she and the Captain were still on deck besides Mr Thornton.

Mr Thornton stood with his arms folded; still as a statue; his face pale with repressed excitement. They were trying to intimidate him-to make him flinch; each was urging the other on to some immediate act of personal violence. Margaret felt intuitively, that in an instant all would be uproar; the first touch would cause an explosion, in which, among such hundreds of infuriated men and reckless boys, even Mr. Thornton's life would be unsafe, that in another instant the stormy passions would have passed their bounds, and swept away all barriers of reason, or apprehension of consequence. Even while she looked, she saw lads in the back-ground stooping to take off their heavy wooden clogs – the readiest missile they could find – she saw it was the spark to the  
gunpowder.

And she saw the man who had managed to crawl up on the deck out of Thornton's sight and was making his way towards him. And, with a cry, which no one heard, she rushed towards him. Her eyes were flaming arrows of reproach. The clogs were arrested in the hands that held them on the cobble stones. The countenance of him and the men on the street fell, so determined not a moment before, now looking irresolute, and as if asking what this meant. For she stood between them and their enemy. She could not speak, but held out her arms towards them till she could recover breath.

'Oh, do not use violence! He is one man, and you are many.' but her words died away, for there was no tone in her voice; it was but a hoarse whisper. Mr. Thornton stood a little on one side; he had moved away from behind her upon noticing, as if jealous of anything that should come between him and danger.

'Go!' said she, once more. 'The soldiers are sent for, and are fast approaching. Go peaceably. Go away. You shall have relief from your complaints, whatever they are.'

'Shall hoo raise our wages again?' asked the man, with fierce threatening in his voice.

'Never, for your bidding!' exclaimed Mr. Thornton. And instantly the storm broke.

A bottle traversed the sky, intended for Mr Thornton- and in that moment Margaret thought more of how she didn't want him to get hurt – than she thought of the result of her pushing Thornton away.

The moment seemed to last an eternity as he looked at the bottle turning and flying through the sky and hitting Margaret's temple with such speed that her whole body turned as she fell to the deck.

The captain leapt towards the man and pinned him down on the deck.

'You do well!' Screamed Thornton in anger, hands itching the hurt the man.

'You come to oust the innocent stranger. Now a woman came to you, pleading to be a reasonable creature for your own sake and you let your wrath fall upon her? If I had any say in the matter I would throw this very bottle at your head myself – see how much you like it!'

The man was silent, ashamed and shocked by the suddenly very real effect of his anger.

(Th' were meant for thee, but thou wert sheltered behind a woman', the man muttered.

Mr. Thornton quivered with rage. The pain of the blood-flowing had kept Margaret conscious- dimly, vaguely conscious. He collected Margaret in his arms and set her up gently against the side of the ship. 'Can you rest here? I'll call for a doctor the second the military arrives.'

But without waiting for her answer, he went slowly down the steps right into the middle of the crowd. 'Now kill me, if it is your brutal will. There is no woman to shield me here. You may beat me to death. You will never move me from what I have determined upon, not you!' He stood in front of them, with his arms folded, in precisely the same attitude as he had been.

But the retrograde movement towards the streets had begun. The soldiers were here.

He ran back to Margaret as soon as the retreat had begun. The sober dark blue coat made her pallor stand out more. Now that all animation had left her face, her youth shone through for the first time. Those sharp analysing eyes now closed, with tears battling their way through the long entanglement of her dark eyelashes.

He was both disgusted with himself for loving such a pure young girl, feeling like his love and lust almost tainted her goodness, and furious with the man who had dared to strike her down.

She, who had descended from the heavens to pity and help those in need, rewarded with violence for the love and worry she so willingly bestowed on them!

He had wondered what brought her to the harbour region when he had spotted her, but of course she would be wherever people were in need of help. But was she to help them? Would she have helped them attack the boats?

No, Margaret Hale was an advocate for peace and understanding, never would she approve of violence. Then perhaps, she had come to protect them instead, now that the role of master and subject had been turned, as the subjects in their multitude tried to take control.

She had come to his aid, and pleaded with the people to spare him! And in doing such spare themselves the problems which would come from violating the law. Had she not spread her arms and shielded him from that man, using her femininity as a shield?

She was too good, entirely too good!

Her eyebrows knit together in pain. He wished to touch her – hold her to provide comfort. But could he? He was a man, with what right could he touch her anywhere? If only he were in a position where he could provide comfort.

The sailors came out, and put down the ladder.

'Can you deal with this criminal?' he asked the Captain. When the Captain nodded, Mr Thornton decided that there was no choice. She had to get off the boat and there was no way she could walk down herself.

He picked her up, as he had never even dreamt he would pick her up on their wedding day, and carried her away from the harbour. A carriage was fetched, and she was laid down on a bench. The Captain and his secretary would know what to do with the goods. He couldn't bring himself to care now that Margaret was hurt. The bottle had been so large, and filled! She could have a grave concussion!

He demanded a boy from his warehouse took one of the company coaches and fetched Dr. Donaldson, so that hopefully, Dr Donaldson would arrive almost simultaneously at the Thornton home. Thornton asked his own driver to drive slower, lest Margaret's condition aggravated. He sat down next to her on the floor, and couldn't keep himself from reaching out and holding her hands.

Oh, my Margaret-my Margaret! no one can tell what you are to me! Dead, cold as you lie there, you are the only woman I ever loved! Oh, Margaret – Margaret!' Inarticulately as he spoke, he kneeled by her, and rather moaning than saying the words.

His mind kept creating scenario's in which she died or never recovered, and his spirit couldn't cope. His body shook with contained violence. The more animalistic side of him wanted to return to the harbour as soon as he had delivered her to his mother, and beat the man to a bloody pulp.

Had Margaret any notion of his violent nature she would never look at him again! A great big rough fellow, excited to use his bare hands to inflict pain upon others. She had been right to not give him any more attention than was polite.

Looking at her lifeless form he couldn't help but confess, the words simply streamed out of his mouth. He couldn't remain silent now that he was left alone with her, he needn't filter his words for society or for her. He could never forgive himself if she died before he had the chance to confess.

_Selfish, selfish. _Abusing their time alone, using her temporary unconsciousness for his own benefit to talk about his feelings. She could be dying yet he was preoccupied with his love for her!

But he did wish for his wellbeing. And he prayed in silence with a fervour he hadn't had since his father died. A good Christian like Miss Hale simply had to be protected by the Lord. He couldn't wait until he arrived at his home so that Dr Donaldson could take care of her.

Only now that the first anger and worry had abated, he really studied her face. There were deep dark bags underneath her dark lashes. Her nails were short and brittle, and she seemed to have lost quite some weight since arriving.

She had never been anything less than breath-taking to him. He had thought he would grow used to it by seeing more of her, but his heart still jumped every time their eyes connected.

Yet, studying her closely, and comparing her with the Margaret Hale he had first drank tea with, he realized the difference. Her face didn't hold the same carelessness, and her body betrayed exhaustion – and were that, hardened pieces on her palm and fingers? Yes, they were soft but they were present. She worked, he realized in astonishment.

He couldn't imagine her having always done it, not she who was a London lady. For the first time, he left his bubble, in which Margaret existed purely as an object of affection, and now tried to imagine her as a person having a life beyond their encounters.

If she lived under his roof, he would treasure her, bestowing upon her the loveliest dresses and most interesting books. He wouldn't allow her to lift a finger, and would make sure she had a long rest each night, and a full belly each evening.

It had been clear from his conversations with Mr Hale that he allowed Margaret a great independence, and considered her as the kindest of daughters and the loveliest of helps, mature and strong enough to handle everything with perfection. Now Thornton wondered if Mr Hale had not been mistaken in his daughter's strength and resilience.

Finally, they arrived at the house, and Dr Donaldson and his mother were already waiting.

He carried her towards a bedroom, and left his mother and the doctor to it while he paced in the hallway.

As the Doctor examined her, Mrs Hale dabbed her temples with cologne. A large bruise was forming on her temple. She had at first thought it an exaggeration when Dr Donaldson arrived with the news that Miss Hale had been injured in the harbour and Mr Thornton was on his way with her. But the injury hadn't been exaggerated.

Margaret did indeed look white and wan, although her senses were beginning to return to her. But the sickly daze of the swoon made her still miserably faint. She was conscious of movement around  
her, and of refreshment from the eau de Cologne, and a craving for the bathing to go on without intermission. But when they stopped to talk, she could no more have opened her eyes, or spoken to ask for more bathing, than the people who lie in death-like trance can move, or utter sound, to arrest the awful preparations for their burial, while they are yet fully aware, not merely of the actions of those around them, but of the idea that is the motive for such actions.

Miss Hale was left by the Doctor and Mrs Thornton and a servant was put on a chair to be there in case something happened. A message was sent to Margaret's parents, downplaying the injury as was advised by Dr. Donaldson, so as to not weaken the mother's state, which was frail indeed, he informed Mrs Thornton. In the story, Miss Hale had simply become unwell and had been put in a room just to be sure.

At four in the afternoon, Margaret finally managed to break free from the strange half lucid state she had been in.

'Wh- 'ere am I?'

'Oh, in the Thornton House, Miss. The master brought you in a couple hours ago.'

'Hours- n-no. M-my mother, mustn't worry her.'

'It's fine, Miss. We have informed them you have simply become unwell.'

Margaret shook her head, the movement making her head pound. She felt sick, nausea taking control of her body. Her hands instinctively flew to her mouth.

'Miss- are you alright? I shall fetch the mistress.'

And so Mrs Thornton was fetched, and Margaret made a pitifully weak bid to head home. But Mrs Thornton refused to let the girl go, she couldn't even string sentences together yet!

'Miss Hale, if I'm assessing your situation correctly, you are nauseous. A tell-tale sign of concussion. You are not to leave until the doctor says you can. He's doing his rounds now, but is set to return at five. You can try to convince him then.'

'M-Mrs Thornton, in the meantime… I… My mother… She's not… Too well. I planned on coming here, before the raid distracted me. C-Could we take you up on your offer of that water mattress?'

'Yes. I will see to it. She shall have it by tonight.'

And by five, Margaret could string short sentences together and make enough fuzz that the doctor decided to let her go, though he advised that she was brought with a cab.

At 5.30 Mr Thornton came back from the harbour, having settled his business. His boat had seventeen holes in it from the man climbing up with pickaxes, but these were a minor inconvenience.

Slickson's boats had been raided. Some men had successfully crawled through the small windows, which had had no shutting panels. They had fought their way to the deck and thrown ropes and ladders downward. It had been a mess. Fifty pounds of tea bricks stolen, stacks of China missing… Gallagher's ship had been attacked, and two burning bottles had been thrown on deck, but they hadn't caused much harm, and the load was intact. But it seemed that indeed, the commotion on the deck of his ship, had prevented others from laying siege to his boat.

'I could not come sooner: the superintendent would… Where is she?' Mr Thornton looked round the dining-room, and then almost fiercely at his mother, who was quietly re-arranging the furniture, and did not instantly reply. 'Where is Miss Hale?' asked he again.

'Gone home,' said she, rather shortly.

'Gone home!'

'Yes. She was a great deal better. Indeed, I don't believe it was  
so very much of a hurt; perhaps that bottle only lightly touched her.'

'Believe me, it wasn't lightly. I am sorry she is gone home,' said he, walking uneasily about. An awful part of him had looked forward to coming home to a home she was in. 'She could not have been fit for it.'

'She said she was; and Dr. Donaldson said she was.'

'Thank you, mother. How did Miss Hale go home? I'm sure she could not walk.'

'She had a cab. Everything was done properly, even to the paying. Let us talk of something else. She has caused disturbance enough.'

'I don't know where I should have been but for her.'

'Are you become so helpless as to have to be defended by a girl?' asked Mrs. Thornton, scornfully.

He reddened. 'Not many girls would have taken the blows on herself which were meant for me; meant with right down good-will, too.'

'A girl in love will do a good deal,' replied Mrs. Thornton, shortly.

Love. Love? Love! Loving him back?

'Mother!' He made a step forwards and then came to a standstill, body heaving with passion.

She was a little startled at the evident force he used to keep himself calm. She was not sure of the nature of the emotions she had provoked. It was only their violence that was clear. Was it anger? His eyes glowed, his figure was dilated, his breath came thick and fast. It was a mixture of joy, of anger, of pride, of glad surprise, of panting doubt; but she could not read it.

Still it made her uneasy, as the presence of all strong feeling, of which the cause is not fully understood or sympathised in, always has this effect. She went to the side-board, opened a drawer, and took out a duster, which she kept there for any occasional purpose.

'You must have some tea first.' She decided this was the sensible thing to say, and a clever diversion.

'Tea! Yes, I suppose I must. It's half-past six, and I may be out for some time. Don't sit up for me, mother.'

'You expect me to go to bed before I have seen you safe, do you?'

'Well, perhaps not.' He hesitated for a moment. 'But if I've time, I shall go round by Bedford Road, after I've arranged with the police and seen Hamper and Clarkson.' Their eyes met and they looked at each other intently for a minute.

'Why are you going round by Bedford Road?'

'To ask after Miss Hale.'

'I will send. Williams must take the waterbed she came to ask for. He shall inquire how she is.'

'I must go myself.'

'Not merely to ask how Miss Hale is?'

'No, not merely for that. I want to thank her for the way in which she stood between me and the mob.'

'About that. What was she doing in the harbour? And what are these stories I've heard of you running to the edge of that boat of yours to speak to a mob of people with stuff in their hands to throw at you! It was putting your head into the lion's mouth!'

He glanced sharply at her and replied by another question:

'Shall you be afraid to be left without me, until I can get some of the police? Or had we better send Williams for them now, and they could be here by the time we have done tea? There's no time to be lost. I must be off in a quarter of an hour.'

As Mrs Thornton went to fetch a servant for tea and instruct Williams, Mr Thornton remained in the room. He tried to think of the business he had to do at the police-office, and in reality thinking of Margaret. Everything seemed dim and vague beyond and beside the touch of her arms round his neck—the soft clinging which made the dark colour come and go in his cheek as he thought of it.

The tea would have been very silent, but for Fanny's perpetual description of her own feelings when she heard stories of what happened in the harbour. How she had been alarmed and then felt sick and faint when she remembered her brother was there.

'There, that's enough,' said her brother, rising from the table. 'The reality was enough for me.' He was going to leave the room, when his mother stopped him with her hand upon his arm.

'You will come back here before you go to the Hales', said she, in a low, anxious voice.

'Why? Will it be too late to disturb them?'

'John, come back to me for this one evening. It will be late for Mrs. Hale. But that is not it. Tomorrow, you will go but come back tonight, John!' She had seldom pleaded with her son at all, she was too proud for that, but she had never pleaded in vain.

'I will return straight here after I have done my business. You will be sure to inquire after them? After her?' She immediately gave a solemn nod.

'Mother! You know what I have got to say to Miss Hale, tomorrow?'

The question came upon her suddenly, during a pause in which she, at least, had forgotten Margaret.

She looked up at him.

'Yes! I do. You can hardly do otherwise.'

'Do otherwise! I don't understand you.'

'I mean that, after allowing her feelings so to overcome her, I consider you bound in honour-'

'Bound in honour,' said he, scornfully. 'I'm afraid honour has nothing to do with it. "Her feelings overcome her!" What feelings do you mean?'  
He had more than an inkling as to what his mother meant, but his insecurity had been gnawing at him all day. He needed confirmation, he needed hope that he was not alone in interpreting Margaret's acts today as such.

'Nay, John, there is no need to be angry. Did she not rush to your boat, and cling to you to save you from danger?'

'She did! But, mother,' continued he, stopping short in his walk right in front of her, 'I dare not hope. I cannot believe such a creature cares for me.'

'Don't be foolish, John. Such a creature! Why, she might be a duke's daughter, to hear you speak. And what proof more would you have, I wonder, of her caring for you? I can believe she has had a struggle with her aristocratic way of viewing things; but I like her the better for seeing clearly at last. It is a good deal for me to say,' said Mrs. Thornton, smiling slowly, while the tears stood in her eyes.

'After tonight, I stand second. I wished for you to stay so as to have you to myself, all to myself, a few hours longer, that I begged you not to go till to-morrow!'

'Dearest mother! I know she does not care for me. I shall put myself at her feet. I must. If it were but one chance in a thousand, or a million, I should do it.'

'Don't fear!' said his mother, crushing down her own personal mortification at the little notice he had taken of the rare outing of her maternal feelings. 'Don't be afraid,' she said, coldly. 'As far as love may go she may be worthy of you. It must have taken a good deal to overcome her pride. Don't be afraid, John,' said she, kissing him, as she wished him good-night.

She left the dining room with dignity, but when she got into her own, she locked the door and cried tears she never wished to shed.

* * *

Remember when I said I wouldn't write such long chapters anymore? I was planning to add the whole proposal to this chapter, but I have to cut it off here. It's too long :p

So how did you like my spin on the strike?

The first English police force came to be in 1829, had to call on the regiments now.

Here is the playlist up until now as promised (playlist on youtube named Pride and Power from belgianbisous):  
C1: Hymn to the Sea- James Horner  
C2: Working the Quillet- Anne Dudley (Margaret navigating Liverpool life)  
\- C4: The Promise- Nyman (piano marg)  
Another Dance - Dario Marianelli (Thornton & margaret dance)  
\- C5: no specific music, just some calm piano and the N&S album  
\- C6: Margaret's Pianoforte- Sense & Sensibility soundtrack 2008  
\- C7: Twelve Days of Christmas  
\- C8: God rest ye merry gentlemen  
\- C9: Auld Lang Syne  
\- C10: Pan's Lullaby - Danny Elfman  
\- C11: Light of the Seven - Ramin Djawadi (Day of the riot)  
The Night King - Ramin Djawadi (Margaret gets hurt and he brings her home)

As always thank you for your kind reactions, they are such an awesome encouragement!


	12. The proposal

'Your beauty was the first that won the place,  
And scal'd the walls of my undaunted heart,  
Which, captive now, pines in a caitive case,  
Unkindly met with rigour for desert;  
Yet not the less your servant shall abide,  
In spite of rude repulse or silent pride.'

WILLIAM FOWLER.

Songs for the chapter: The Factory- North&South soundtrack, Final Frontier- Thomas Bergersen, Briseis and Achilles - James Horner

* * *

As far as Margaret Hale was concerned, nothing had happened on the day of the failed raid. The poor workers had tried to show their dissatisfaction and desperation and the company owners had called the military on them and changed nothing. Yes, the crowd refused to disperse off itself and had been violent, the owners had been in their right to call the military but they wouldn't have needed to had they only paid them enough. Today had happened because of selfish men like Slickson. As for her own involvement, she had been dragged along by the crowd. Mr Thornton had offered her the protection of his boat and she in turn had offered him the protection her gender was supposed to offer her. They had merely been two acquaintances trying to protect each other, nothing more and nothing less.

She wondered though, why, if nothing had happened, she felt so agitated. She wondered whether the sentiment was disappointment as she had hoped that after months of visiting both rich and poor she had become something of a mediator between the two. But now that the moment had come for her to assume that role, she had instead become a victim of the animosity between the two.

She hadn't meant to take a side. No, she had simultaneously called on both sides to not fall prey to violence. She refused to see either party harmed. She protected both workers and Mr Thornton from their worst selves by preventing the workers acting on their anger. She would have done as much as she did for Thornton for any man as Thornton. Had the employees been the weak minority she wouldn't have hesitated to protect them either. Just as she had defended them during the dinners she'd had.

But if she hadn't taken a side and had done the right thing, why did she feel such acute shame and dread?

Like everyone confronted with an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling, Margaret decided to rationalise with herself and analysed her events and feelings until she found a satisfactory explanation that didn't include the feeling she was running from.

'After she threw herself at him like that.'

'Quite scandalous.'

She thought back on the snippets of conversation she'd overheard between Fanny and the maid in the last thirty minutes of her stay at the Thornton residence.

Agitation turned into frustration. How dare they question her Christianity and morality? She had protected him out of the goodness of her heart and out of her Christian morality as taught by her father. What was it with people trying to turn a noble deed into some gossip tale about selfishness? She had, just like her brother, done a – perhaps too passionate– act for justice.

It angered her that she who had been trying to be humble all of her life, had now been accused of vanity by trying to showcase herself, and showing herself as a suitor. She would never abuse a moment of danger to showcase herself as some cunning suitor.

Her mind allowed her to admit that she had shown too much emotion, if she was being fair. It shamed her that she who had despised people for showing emotion, who had thought them wanting in self-control, had done it herself, like a romantic fool.

And she was no romantic fool. No, that she was most certainly not. She thought of him again. He had been like a statue, untouched by the pleas of the people. They had tried to break his stone façade and make him sympathize with their insecure lives. No, that was cruel and unfair. He did sympathize, he allowed them a great deal of authority in their own lives where she wished for more of a guiding hand. He tried to pay them as well as he could, he wanted to keep them alive as long as possible, he knew their suffering. He was better than most, yet she couldn't help but feel like more could be done. She had never known what to make of him. She was sure she despised him in the beginning, but had since then had to backtrack on her earliest statements about him. She had to admit she was interested in his resolution and power and he wasn't unpleasant. But to pursue him? No, that couldn't be.

They rivalled. It was her moral tenacity against his commanding energy of a man of iron. It was her upbringing as a lady against his years of rough labour. He was poorly suited for society, the only society he thrived in being a society of likeminded people. She was very educated, and he had barely had any schooling. She had never put much thought in what kind of marriage she wanted, but she wouldn't have minded someone like papa. Mild-mannered, allowing her freedom, valuing her opinion and offering stimulating intellectual conversation every day. Most London men had artificial characters, putting on different masks depending on the social setting, but they had at least offered a broad variety of topics. Liverpool conversation was always the same, and the men didn't seem to tire of it. She couldn't imagine spending the next forty years of her life discussing nothing but economy. She couldn't imagine being the wife of a tradesman, and daughter to the fierce woman called Hannah Thornton.

It would also mean that she would have to stop visiting the employees of the companies. She would have to stop bringing baskets. She thought of Hannah Thornton, who, had she been born a man, would have been destined for greatness. But instead the woman was confined to a domestic life in which she had to suffer the consequences of whatever the males in her life decided. A life of worrying about cutlery, household accounts and children. It all seemed quite suffocating. At least Edith had the freedom to do as she pleased. She could sleep the day away, or she could occupy herself in a multitude of ways. She could walk through beautiful parks, visit interesting people, see opera's, listen to piano, read, go to the theatre, answer letters or… The possibilities were endless.

Margaret had always loved having some free time. In Helstone she loved walking through the woods, painting and visiting the less fortunate. She loved making a change and helping others. Would Mr Thornton ever understand the part of her that no one but she and her father understood? The part of her which longed for a space for herself in a most unconventional way which goes against the secluded sphere women are usually contained in?

She doubted it. He wasn't an attractive suitor in her eyes, and she very much doubted she was an ideal suitor in his eyes. Young, outspoken, ignorant in the matters he cared most about, in reduced circumstances, defiant… All while lacking in looks to compensate for all those shortcomings. She was curious why anyone thought the match plausible, let alone appealing to either party. The insinuations said more about the people engaging in gossip than it said anything about her and Mr. Thornton.

It was silly and Margaret refused to think more of it. She was tired and it had been a long day.

Everything was fine. Nothing had happened. Tonight, she would go to bed and tomorrow would be another day like nothing had changed.

**X.X.X**

Margaret Hale was wrong.

When she woke up, she refused to dress up in a special way, and planned her day like nothing would happen. She feared that if she did, it would make the possibility of something happening today more real. So she was in no way prepared when Dixon came into her room to tell her Mr Thornton was in the drawing room.

'Mr. Thornton, Miss Margaret. He is in the drawing room.' Margaret dropped her pen which she was using to write a letter to Edith.

'Did he ask for me? Isn't papa come in?'

'He asked for you, miss; and master is out.'

'Very well, I will come,' said Margaret, quietly.

She was dressed in a thin white dress with short sleeves and her hair was already escaping her quickly made bun. She had allowed herself to heat up her room for once, and now felt terribly unprepared to face Mr Thornton. She wished for long-sleeved dark dress with thick fabric. Something that looked cold and strong. But there was no time to change dress now. Her Indian shawl would have to do. She also piled on some of her jewellery. She was never ornamental, but somehow wearing her most expensive possessions made her feel more armed and equal to Mr Thornton. Why she needed to feel wealthy and unreachable, she couldn't explain, as she still tried to supress her suspicions about his reasons for coming to her house.

While walking down the stairs, she was determined to appear bothered. He had no reason to come and she had a lot to do. Besides, her mother was still ill. She hoped he would get the hint and soon take his leave.

Before entering, she took one last breath, a deep one, like one might take before diving under water for a prolonged period of time.

**X.X.X**

Everyone who knew John Thornton would admit that he often appeared restless and impatient. He was pure energy contained within a human body, and from time to time that energy seemed to fight its constraints. His fingers would tap on his legs, his gaze would jump to every object to look for a new purpose, his hands clenched and unclenched at random, his foot would tap the floor if he had to listen to an unimportant conversation as his mind thought of ways he could better spend his time, yes he was certainly restless.

His energy and power had always been intimidating to Margaret, though she refused to let it daunt her. She had become used to his manners, but she had never before seen him in this state. Now his whole body emanated raw power and unhinged energy. His tall dark form was too large and broody for the tiny pastel coloured living room. He seemed horribly out of place in the domestic setting.

Her heartbeat sped up like crazy. This was their problem, she thought. They were unmatched in temper and opinion, and the difference made her unsure of how she had to deal with him, leading to a speedy heartbeat. But John Thornton had quite a different interpretation of his own quickened heartbeat.

His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. But it wasn't out of uncertainty or nervousness at the prospect of interacting with someone so different. He had always known she was very different, and those differences had both enticed and frustrated him, but they were a part of her and he couldn't help but accept them, just like he had to simply accept his love for her. Differences didn't daunt him, they excited him. She was so educated, so moral. She'd had a cultural education he could only dream of. True, she was idealistic and unrealistic and he lived in a state of fear that any opinion leaving his mouth could dismay her moral judgement but he could only look forward to meeting her.

He could not forget the touch of her arms around his neck, impatiently felt as it had been at the time; but now the recollection of her clinging defence of him, seemed to thrill him through and through. It was amazing how just one touch of her could melt away every resolution, all power of self-control, as if it were wax before a fire.

His mind couldn't help but construct visions of him going forward to meet her, with his arms held out in mute entreaty and that she would come and nestle there, as she had done, all unheeded, the day before. His heart throbbed loud and quick. He couldn't help but tremble at the anticipation of what he had to say, and how it might be received. One moment, he glowed with impatience at the thought that she might accept him, the next, he feared a passionate rejection, the very idea of which withered up his future with so deadly a blight that he refused to think of it.

He didn't even notice her arrival and the time of announcing her presence had passed, making her feel like an awkward onlooker of a private moment. She didn't know how she should draw his attention, so she just reopened the door again and shut it harshly.

'Mr Thornton?'

He turned around. There she was, his empress dressed in her robes and finery. The white of her dress was set off against the bright dark blue and yellow of her shawl. And the dark curls tumbling from her hairdo made the white of her skin and red of her lips stand out. She was perfect in her contrasts, and looked ever as lovely and soft instead of her usual unbothered distant self. It was as if a part of her armour had disappeared, and he hoped it was because he was allowed closer from now on. He was curious about the part of her which she hid from the outside world.

'Miss Hale, I was very ungrateful yesterday-'

He was going to talk of yesterday, Margaret realized with dread. But he was wrong! Why didn't he see that nothing special had happened?

'You have nothing to be grateful for. You mean, I suppose, that you believe you ought to thank me for what I did. It was only a natural instinct. Any woman would have done just the same. We all feel the sanctity of our sex as a high privilege when we see danger. I ought rather apologise to you, for having said thoughtless words which sent you forward into the danger.'

'It was not your words; it was the truth they conveyed that urged me to address the workers. And it was a good and well-intended advice. You're a smart woman Miss Hale, and though you couldn't have foreseen the possible danger I exposed myself to as you are not as familiar with trade and business, it was a solid advice. Had I not believed that what you advised could have worked out, I wouldn't have done what I did. But you shall not drive me away from my purpose, and so escape the expression of my deep gratitude, my-' he was on the verge now; he would not speak in the haste of his hot passion.

This was her nightmare. He wasn't only grateful that she saved him, he was even grateful for her ill thought through advice. She couldn't escape his expression of gratitude. It infuriated and frightened her. How dare he force her to listen? How dare he ignore her wishes should she ever find the power to vocalize them? Why wouldn't he see her trembling form and realize that she couldn't deal with whatever he had to say. She doubted that he would express his gratitude in a way she could accept.

Her body registered a sensation not unfamiliar to the sensation of falling. He stepped closer still, and she felt ever so small and powerless. Her stomach felt uneasy, her heart hammered in her chest, even her breathing felt constricted.

'I do not want to be relieved from any obligation, I choose to believe that I owe my very life to you, ay, smile, and think it an exaggeration if you will. I believe it, because it adds a value to that life to think. Oh, Miss Hale! To think that whenever I experience something good from now on, I may think "All this gladness in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this keen sense of being, I owe to her!" It doubles my gladness, it makes the pride glow, it sharpens my sense of existence till I hardly know if it is pain or pleasure, to think that I owe it to one. I am not only here to convey my thanks to you' continued he, lowering his voice to such a tender intensity of passion that she shivered and trembled before him.

He was too close now, and all his intensity was aimed directly towards her. He was heading somewhere, at a neck breaking speed, and she couldn't stop him. She was powerless, voiceless and astounded. Margaret shook her head. It frightened her, the intensity with which he spoke. Bestowing such unearned gratitude on her and speaking with such frank emotion that she didn't know how to respond. Never had she heard of pain and pleasure in one sentences, as two feelings rivalling and feeling alike. She was out of her depth, too inexperienced in life and love to understand his feelings, or to receive them. It didn't click in her mind. It didn't connect with anything she knew.

'I came because I- forgive me, I've never found myself in this position before. I have difficulty finding the words. Miss Hale, my feelings for you are very strong. To one whom I love, as I do not believe man ever loved woman before.'

He took her hand and held it tight in his. He panted as he listened for what should come.

Her cold hand stopped trembling, and her heartbeat slowed. Yet at the same time her vision grew blurry and all sound appeared to dull. She could hear the thud of her heartbeat in her ears. She couldn't tear her eyes away from their joined hands. Joined like her parents joined hands in church while listening to a sermon here in Liverpool. His hands were warm and big, enveloping her tiny hand almost completely. His hands were darker than hers, faint scars running along them. _Not_ the hands of a scholar.

Her stomach twisted. This didn't quite feel like fear anymore, but the fear was still present in her head, telling her not to look up to his face or else-

Or else what? She didn't understand her body. It knew things her waking mind didn't. She knew this was not a position acquaintances found themselves in. This wasn't an approved proximity. This- this was dangerous. He had no right to touch her! But she didn't pull away. Why didn't she pull away?

His words registered in her head minutes after he had spoken them.

Love? _Love_?

She thought of her parents, whose love was like a balm, gentle and ever present. She'd seen Mrs Thornton's love of her son: he was her son and pride, something she seemed to possess.

Love was what had made her mother lose her beloved London life, what filled Edith with empty chatter while she wasn't a bright star to begin with, what made Mrs Thornton possessive, made Miss Latimer silly and what made Mrs Shaw snobbish because her husband had made her rich. And then there was poor Mary, who had become so sad because she had given her heart to someone which gave that person the ability to break it with nothing more than a single action.

Love between a child and its parents, or between people and God was pure. It strengthened, healed, empowered. Love for the other sex seemed to highlight the worst in people. She hadn't noticed that Mr Thornton treated her differently than any other young lady. It was hard for her to imagine that had the power to reign over his emotions, like the (prospective) husbands had over the women she knew. It frightened her, she didn't want that power. She had never been able to define what her relationship with Mr Thornton was, but it wasn't like any other example of love she had seen.

Yet-

"Oh, seeing him in that suit makes my heart stutter, Margaret. It could simply soar!" She remembered Edith saying.

"Oh, when we first met each other, I was so focussed on trying to control my shaking hands I could barely get a word over my lips," Mary had once told her in private.

"I wish you would all meet this family! They're all so pleasant and friendly. Miss Carmen is so educated and smart, she almost reminds me of Margaret with her sharp eyes shewing a high education. She's so much of everything- giving, smart, kind, thoughtful. I knew so much about her already before I ever met her. The knowledge combined with her beauty made it almost impossible for me to speak! My body was most definitely being silly, she had done nothing particular to evoke that kind of reaction. Silly nerves! I assume I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of the sister of my business partners!" That was what Frederick had written in his last letter.

Restless behaviour, a wild heartbeat, shaking hands… These were things she had heard of – even felt herself. But it couldn't be love. After all, she liked him and he didn't seem to loathe her but that was it. They disagreed on everything.

"One needn't be handsome to be attractive, Margaret love. But you don't understand that yet, I can see the confusion in your eyes. You talk of love as if it is a chore one has to do, dear girl, but the thing is… Loving isn't a thing you can do, it just happens. Your mind and body will know before you are even aware of it, despite their character and despite their looks."

Could it actually be? Had she interpreted everything about their interactions all wrong? Was it possible? It was unbelievable that she would be so sorely mistaken. But – surely, Mr Thornton knew what he felt. He seemed quite determined. But- Was love really what he felt? He mentioned loving her, but his behaviour never indicated it, and everything before his declaration of love was about how he felt the need to _repay_ her for her actions. She got an inkling that he was going to propose in an attempt to _repay_ her because he felt he _owed_ her. And engaged people were supposed to be in love. It was not impossible that he proposed out of gratefulness but wanted her to believe that there were emotions behind it too, so that it wouldn't appear to be the business deal he intended it to be.

But she was getting ahead of herself by thinking about what he felt and what he meant. The most important thing right now was that a proclamation of love and an acceptation of that love indicated the start of an engagement. An engagement meant an impending marriage. And marriage meant moving away, away from her family who so sorely needed her.

In that instant she decided that it didn't matter what he claimed to feel. Nor did it matter what she felt. The whole question of whether he or she felt love and if it was reciprocated didn't matter because marriage was out of the question. She had a duty to her parents which came first, and he knew that!

Yet he came, and made her doubt her feelings and judgement. He came, knowing of her mothers poor health yet he declared his love which insinuated that should she accept that love, she was to move out. It was cruel.

So there was only one answer she could give. She was to stay at home. Mr Thornton wouldn't take an ordinary no for an answer, he was in trade, he bartered. He needed reasons. Reasons she couldn't just give like that. Because then he would assume that she loved him and was _only_ held back by her parents. He wouldn't accept defeat. He would keep on searching for a solution which she didn't want. She wished everyone could just leave her and her parents alone. So she would have to hurt him where it hurt the most, until he fully believed that a marriage to her was out of the question. Yes. That was it.

'Please stop and don't continue. I didn't give you permission to speak yet you pressed on, it is not the way of a gentleman. I explicitly told you that you that I would have done the same for every man, yet you continued to make this about you and your desire to repay me for a service I don't need thanking for. It is quite insulting, I'm sorry but I simply cannot help but experiencing it that way. I did what I did out of Christianity and the good nature of my heart, not out of selfish desire or a wish to endear myself to you. Besides, we must speak gently, for mamma is asleep; but your whole manner is quite insulting. You seem to fancy that my conduct of yesterday was a personal act between you and me; and that you may come and thank me for it, instead of perceiving, as a gentleman would-yes! A gentleman, that any woman, worthy of the name of woman, would come forward to shield, with her reverenced helplessness, a man in danger from the violence of numbers. And now you speak as if it is your duty to repay me, as if my actions are some kind of business transaction you want to even out. I suppose I suppose I should expect nothing else from someone in trade.'

He threw the hand away with indignation, as he heard her assuming her indifferent even though her words were accompanied by stuttering.

She realized how much of a lie that was, despite being truthful about being willing to do the same for other men, the moment it left her mouth. But she couldn't dwell on why her words felt like a lie.

She only knew that she regretted her words as she spoke them and saw how they hit their mark. A cold feeling wrapped itself around her heart as his warm hands dropped her hand. She knew he would be upset, she could hardly insult him more. She knew how sensitive he was about his status. Despite his pride in his business, he was very insecure about how he was perceived.

'And the gentleman thus rescued is forbidden the relief of thanks!' he broke in contemptuously. 'I know that in your eyes at least, I am no gentleman But I am a man. I claim the right of expressing my feelings.'

'And I yielded to the right, you expressed your feelings.'

'I spoke to you about my feelings not because I love you, I had no thought about some kind of repayment. I don't wish for some kind of transaction, I don't wish to be 'even', I wish to marry you because I love you.'

And out went Margaret's belief that he proposed and expressed love because of a feeling of debt. But he continued before she could even begin to think about what that meant.

He took a step forward, as if meaning to show her what he felt. Her heartbeat quickened, and her breath halted in her throat. But then changed his mind and turned away from her and she was left feeling cold, but able to breathe. She barely understood her bodily reactions anymore. She was scared when he came closer, but sad when he distanced himself.

'You may speak on, Miss Hale. I now believe that it was only your innate sense of oppression that made you act so nobly as you did. I know you despise me. Allow me to say, it is because you do not understand me.'

_No, no, no._

She shook her head but he didn't see. But what could she say? It wasn't just her sense of oppression. She didn't despise him. She did understand him, or at least a part of him. She understood his character, but not his feelings.

Could she say that? He might interpret it as an admittance of love if she told him that she liked him as a person and that her probably helping any man didn't mean she didn't care for him. She couldn't say it. She didn't understand her feelings enough to speak of them.

'No, I see you do not. You are unfair and unjust', he decided without looking back at her.

But, for all his savage words, he could have thrown himself at her feet, and kissed the hem of her wounded pride. But Margaret didn't know that. She was fully convinced he now hated her, and thought the feeling mutual.

He took up his hat.

'One word more. You look as if you thought it tainted you to be loved by me. You cannot avoid it. Nay, I, if I would, cannot cleanse you from it. But I would not, if I could. I have never loved any woman before: my life has been too busy, my thoughts too much absorbed with other things. Now I love, and will love. But do not be afraid of too much expression on my part.'

'I am not afraid,' she replied, lifting herself straight up.

She wanted to say so much more, but she couldn't. The whole conversation had been such a disaster she wouldn't even know what to begin to address. As he took a hold of the door she thought of her father, who was to arrive home around this time.

'But, Mr. Thornton, you have been very kind to my father. Don't let us go on making each other angry and our interactions uncomfortable. Pray don't!'

Rejecting her offered hand, and making as if he did not see her grave look of regret, he turned abruptly away, and left the room. Margaret caught one glance at his face before he went.

When he was gone, she thought she had seen the gleam of washed tears in his eyes.

She had done it. She had refused Mr Thornton's offer of marriage at the cost of absolutely mortifying his pride and destroying any amiable bond there was between them.

She sank to the ground, tears forming in her own eyes as everything that had transpired finally hit her.

Mr Thornton had asked her to marry him and she had refused him.

Mr Thornton loved her, and there had been no other reason for his proposal. It didn't at all feel like Henry's proposal, he'd been hurt but not as affected as Mr Thornton. She and Mr Lennox had been set up together multiple times, they had an established friendship, and she knew everyone wanted them to marry. But Henry was a London man, he had control over his emotions, and was much more temperate with his emotions. The men in Liverpool were a good deal more intense and a great deal more honest, she'd known that, yet she had doubted the honesty of Mr Thornton's declaration of love, despite that he had shown incredible honesty to her before.

'But what was I to do? I couldn't accept his offer. I had to say no.'  
She buried her face in her hands as she wept. Nothing would have softened the blow of a rejection if he loved her, and she had to reject him in the most clear terms.

He was hurt. She'd caused him pain by rejecting him, and had wounded his pride and insulted his character while doing it.

And unfortunately for her, she had only come to understand that her feelings about him might not be fear, but romantic affection, a sentiment she had never experienced before. But nothing was to be done, their course had been set by that point in the conversation. The realization that he loved her and she might actually like him couldn't have changed her answer. Though, hadn't her mother urged her to marry? Yes she had! Because if she didn't marry by the time her mother and father died, she would be reduced to a penniless orphan. This was already the second good proposal she'd rejected, she doubted she'd be as lucky as to receive a third.

She gasped for breath and let herself fall to the floor.

'I'm so stupid. But what was I to do? I panicked. I just did what I thought best.'

She could only comfort herself that she could now keep the freedom she had under her father, and take care of her parents. Even if it had cost her her chance of a future.

* * *

Whew, that was one chapter! I took a week off after finishing my thesis, because my hand simply ached too much!

This took me such a long time to write, it was very difficult to convey what I wanted to.

It's already quite a long chapter so I'll keep my bigger notes for the next chapter, now as to some short ones

1) Yes I mixed some of the N&S miniseries with some dialogue the book. I think they both had some good pieces and bad pieces.

2) The proposal is very drawn out because this is a very big turning point for our Margaret. She never could figure out what was between her and John but this conversation shattered many of her convictions and made her realize quite a lot of things.

3) the songs for this chapter:

The factory: Margaret thinking about everything that happened during the day. Its beginning is quite soft, reminding me of Margaret still being in a daze, but it ends louder reflecting how Margaret is decided and clear.

Final Frontier: This is more upbeat. I picked it because it is filled with a sense of anticipation. I get a feel that we're heading somewhere. The song most reverberates with the next piece: "Her heartbeat sped up like crazy. This was their problem, she thought. They were unmatched in temper and opinion, and the difference made her unsure of how she had to deal with him, leading to a speedy heartbeat. But John Thornton had quite a different interpretation of his own quickened heartbeat. His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. But it wasn't out of uncertainty or nervousness at the prospect of interacting with someone so different. He had always known she was very different, and those differences had both enticed and frustrated him, but they were a part of her and he couldn't help but accept them, just like he had to simply accept his love for her. Differences didn't daunt him, they excited him. "

Briseis and Achilles: This is fitting for their entire conversation. Until the ending, there's quite a soft melody on the foreground. Margaret's mind is split into two as well. The first part wonders about and interprets and realizes things about her relationship with Mr Thornton. The melody feels exotic, slow and romantic in the beginning. She's still physically overwhelmed by being confronted with him and the words he says. She wonders about why Thornton could be saying what he says, and reflects on what love is supposed to mean.

Then around 2min10sec the melody changes and turns sad. She knows there can't be anything and Mr Thornton is going at a speed she can't keep up with. She realizes she has to hurt him to chase him away. At 3.30 the music turns dark, with an even more ominous noise in the back. Margaret knows she has no choice but reject him and it becomes clear that this conversation is set up for disaster from the get-go. When the ominous melody finally comes to the foreground she's saying those words she can't take back. It sounds epic and tragic, the scene is unfolding in front of Margaret's eyes and she can only watch the horrific reality unfold as Thornton gives his last few remarks and leaves. The last note is drawn out, like Margaret who is left behind. The music has stopped but she is clearly not 'done'.

4) Your reactions: thank you for the kind comments, and rest assured anon, I will not quit this story. I'm quite dedicated.

5) Well, what are your opinions about this chapter? Are you excited? Did you expect this turn of events?Please be so kind to leave a comment, a favorite or subscribe. It means the world to me 3


	13. The Goodbye Party

Like ships in the night  
You keep passing me by  
Just wasting time  
Trying to prove who's right  
And if it all goes crashing into the sea  
Like ships in the night letting cannonballs fly  
Say what you mean and it turns to a fight  
Fists fly from my mouth as it turns south

Ships In The Night – Matt Kearney

* * *

How was it that he haunted her imagination so persistently? What could it be? Why did she care for what he thought, in spite of all her pride… in spite of herself?

Why did she tremble, and hide her face in the pillow that night and the nights following? What strong feeling had overtaken her at last?

She prayed to God for understanding and for peace of mind, but neither came.

Food couldn't evoke any appetite, her paintings were left as untouched as they were the day he walked in. Even books she was really invested in couldn't hold her attention for more than an hour before her thoughts went to the failed raid and the proposal again.

She went through stages of hating Mr Thornton for proposing and hating herself for reacting the way she did. She hated herself for walking towards the harbour, for going to that ship, for saving him, for refusing him. Time and time again she was dissatisfied with what had happened, and yet she could never settle on what would have been a better way for things to go.

She felt young and small, unprepared to deal with the weight of everything. She remembered how just a couple of months ago, she had been prepared to live a noble life like any heroine she had heard of. Back then it had seemed like it could be accomplished by praying and willing herself to do good and become noble. But now she had failed. She hadn't been noble. She had been petulant, selfish and judgemental. She held her own morals in the highest regard and had looked down on everyone with a different set of morals, without wondering whether hers were indeed the best ones, or whether others couldn't be just as good. She had loathed Mr Thornton's opinions only because of his position of power. The spirit of commerce didn't upset her as much now that she was used to it and had a better understanding of it. And in that growing understanding, she'd come to accept that Mr Thornton was definitely one of the better company owners. Her father had told her she had been judgemental and biased because she didn't know nor understood it, and Mr Thornton had said as much himself, but she hadn't listened.

And now she had ruined her relationship with her father's friend forever. And as much as that felt like a world altering event after which her life couldn't go on as it had before, life did go on.

February came around and life went on. The day before each meeting a note arrived for Mr Hale announcing that Mr Thornton was too busy to make time for a session. A basket of fruit for Mrs Hale accompanied each note, and this continual sign of kindness didn't help Margaret's crushing sense of guilt the slightest.

After just a bit under two weeks since the proposal happened, Mary invited her over for tea.

'Just some of the ladies and a couple of gentlemen, almost all men you are acquainted with are too busy with work as the new season is fast approaching. But have no worry, we'll be supervised.'

Margaret prayed it was true, since that would mean Mr Thornton wasn't lying to her father in an attempt to avoid her and it would mean she could see her friends without having to undergo the anxiety of facing Mr Thornton.

**x.X.x**

'Oh Margaret, there you are, how delightful. Please come in! Our housemaid has just finished the scones. Have you ever tried our regional jams? They're from last season of course, but it was a nice hot summer so they're delightful.'

Margaret was guided into a pretty lavender sitting room. Present were Mary, her younger sister Georgiana Gallagher, ladies Caroline Montagu and her sister Mrs Georgiana Baillie, and Catherine De Vere. The Montagu ladies were visiting the city with the governess of the first, husband and baby of the second, their uncle Lord Frederick Montagu and their brother the future duke of Manchester. Their father was still in Jamaica and they couldn't go anywhere with their mother anymore, after her scandal with the footman had become well known.

The two ladies were pretty and pleasant though, at twenty-one and twenty-two. Mrs Georgiana had taken her husband and baby with her, an adorable baby just under six months.

Georgina Gallagher was a fifteen year old girl, too young for society but old and serious enough for tea and Catherine De Vere was a friend of Mary from school. At an age of 19 she was the most gorgeous creature Margaret had ever seen, even more gorgeous than miss Latimer as Catherine's temperament was very sweet and kind. She was from a good family of landed gentry, though neither very rich nor influential.

The assembly managed to debunk Margaret's belief that a group of women could only talk about frivolous things like music, household, children and fashion. Instead they talked about philosophy and the bills which had been passed in parliament. They were all particularly opinionated on the Liverpool and Manchester Railway Company's Henry Booth whose survey had been rejected a day's prior on the 8th of February. They were all worried about the cost, but couldn't deny the advantages which a railway connection between Liverpool and Manchester could bring for the trade.

'I'm so relieved you haven't invited Miss Latimer, Mary. I never look forward to meeting her. I'm always fearing she'll turn on me next, I so have to watch my words when she's around.'

'Well, I hardly could, after what happened three days ago', Mary laughed. Sir Edward grinned, but it left Margaret, and the two Carlisle ladies wondering.

'How so, what happened?'

'You haven't heard? You of all people, Margaret?' Mary asked, as she now believed they were on first name base, at least in private, since that fateful night some months ago.

'Heard what? Why should I know in particular?'

'Why, because it is about you', said sir Edward.

'I don't and I can hardly understand how I could be involved. Can you please explain?'

'Yes, of course. So, Miss Latimer, Miss Fanny and some other ladies were at a seamstress to have their dresses for the Spring Ball fitted-'

'Oh I forgot! Miss Hale, I forgot to invite you. You are invited of course! It is my party, I host it, now that I see you I realize I have forgotten you. My dear, I swear it isn't for a lack of affection for your family. Please, you must come. It is on the 28th of February. Do come.'

'I shall ask at home, but rest assured I don't feel insulted, Sir Edward.'

'Good.'

'Alright, now to continue', decided Mary, 'Apparently Miss Latimer had heard some kind of rumour about you being present at the strike and clinging to Mr Thornton to try and force him to marry you. All false of course, and then she said some other nasty things. Mr Thornton just so happened to walk past – and this is where it gets interesting, since we all know Miss Latimer has been eying Mr Thornton as a potential husband – he completely shuts her down and points out her falsehoods. He immediately took Miss Fanny with him to go home! Apparently he visited Mr Latimer the very same evening to inform him that he had overheard his daughter spreading falsehoods and tarnishing the reputation of not only him, but you too! He'd heard it not only himself, but apparently other people had heard her gossiping about you on other occasions as well. Mr Latimer was absolutely mortified! He often works together with Mr Thornton and she had shamed his partner. Not only that but even more people had heard her lie. Now I've heard he is determined to send her away to a nunnery to remind her of the Christian values for a year, until the whole drama has passed. But no matter how long she'll be there, one thing is sure, she won't be marrying Mr Thornton.'

'Dear God.'

'Are you joking? A year without her? That's amazing, she always has something nasty to say about my dress and always acts so condescending', little Georgiana said.

'Well, I must admit I won't miss her', laughed Sir Edward.

'That was indeed no way for a Christian to behave, oh poor Miss Hale, had you truly no idea? How horrible, a lady's reputation is so valuable and once tarnished almost unrestorable. How I pity you, poor thing. You don't strike me as someone who would ever wilfully ensnare a man.'

'I wouldn't. That's awful. I was there on the day of the riot, that's true, but I did nothing of the like. I only called on the workers to lay down their arms for their own sake, as it could get them into trouble with the law. I never would've draped myself around Mr Thornton in an attempt to secure him. How repulsive.'

'Your intentions are always pure, Miss Hale, we know where your heart lies. You always act for the greater good and care deeply about the little people', Sir Edward comforted her.

'Yes indeed. It sounds very unlike you. I was astounded when I heard that', Mary agreed.

'Don't mind it, at least she was caught. I'm glad she isn't getting away with this', Little Georgiana replied.

The conversation carried on, but Margaret was occupied. He'd defended her, and had gone out of his way to do so, even when he owed her nothing, even when she had spit on his heart.

**x.X.x**

Storms with flashing lightning and thunder which made windows creak filled the two intervening weeks, melting away all traces of ice and snow in the city.

All men were now in the final phase of their contracts for the coming year. Higgins worked long days at the docks, preparing the ships for their long travels. The company owners were to visit some other tradesmen on the island and the continent to finish some deals and await quicker news of their boats. They would come back by the end of April or the early weeks of May, once their boats had safely survived the first leg of their travel to the most southern point of Africa.

Sir Edward had sent written invites for the Goodbye Party to the Hale family since all printed invites had been sent days prior, and it had been decided they would all go, including Mrs Hale if she was well enough on the day itself.*

But as the day approached, Margaret's dread increased.

To be in the same room as Mr Thornton, to talk with him since society expected them to behave normally… She didn't know whether she would be able to do it.

She'd been losing sleep for weeks and though their conversation in its entirety replayed itself in her nightmares, the words: "Now I love, and will love", haunted her most.

She was scared of him.

She hated herself.

She dreaded the mere prospect of seeing him.

And as if all of that hadn't been enough her gush of blood arrived just days before, and they left her feeling very faint and fatigued. It was not a great condition for a ball, yet she knew it was no good enough reason to excuse herself.

**x.X.x**

Two days later the time had come. Though Margaret didn't feel any better she was put in a tub, her hair was pinned with pearls and she was put in a butterscotch coloured dress and a post chaise was called for her and her father. Mrs Hale decided she wasn't in good enough health after all.

They were warmly received by Sir Edward and were guided towards the dance hall. Some of the younger ladies and men were already happily dancing, the sound of the music mixed with the gentle shuffling of everyone on their dancing shoes managed to bring a smile to her face despite her intentions not to dance. She found Mary, the Montagu ladies and miss De Vere. They all decided to talk while watching the dancers. The faces of the dancers were already quite flushed. Margaret felt a slight pity for all the men in the hot room having to dance in their full costume while the ladies wore their short-sleeved light dresses. They remarked on the muslins, silks and hairdo's of the young ladies, and Mary and Miss De Vere named a few Margaret and the other ladies hadn't seen before. It was a fashionable but large ball. Sir Edward had invited the most important families in employ of each trading business, alongside some Liverpudlian company owners who were befriended with the company owners, like the family of Mary's fiancé. An interesting addition were Sir Edward's London friends. They were a fashionable yet gay lot who were all on the dancefloor. The tailcoats of the men were sublime shiny reds and blues, under which they wore rich patterns with gold and silver embroidery with shiny big buttons. The ladies were magnificent in their darker dresses. They wore sapphire blue, mustard yellow and Turkey red, making them stand out amongst the clouds of pastel coloured dresses of the local young ladies. Their skirts were wider, the bottoms adorned with pleads, beading and thick ribbons. Their puffed sleeves were even larger than Margaret's had been during the holiday ball. Their shoulders were completely bare, drawing attention to the necklaces which were draped around their necks. Their curls were a lot more elaborate compared to the way most girls had their hair done. The bun on the back of their heads was a looped knot worn high on top of the head, under which intricate braids were pinned together with delicate metal flowercombs. London fashion had developed even quicker than Margaret had suspected, or perhaps they had been even richer and more fashionable than the ladies Margaret had known.

A little over an hour after they'd arrived, a butler announced dinner would be served.

Her father was seated near Mr Thornton and some of his other pupils who all enthusiastically involved him in their conversation. It was a relief to Margaret that Mr Thornton had indeed not decided to avoid or ignore her father. In fact, he seemed to address Mr Hale quite a lot.

Perhaps it had indeed been his work keeping him from attending meetings.

She herself was seated near Mary and some other women she'd met before, along with some of the other company owners. The seating placement was indeed well put together to insure everyone sat beside people they liked, and some they knew less well to keep the conversation interesting.

There were no meat courses, since Sir Edward wished to celebrate spring by using only fish and shellfish. They were served à la Française and were a stunning view to see. Fish soup, lobster crème, pastries and pies decorated with wonderful flower and leaf motives, jellies, grilled salmon, shellfish in garlic butter sauce, the kitchen had outdone itself. And with the lemons and abundance of green vegetables and fruits, the whole tasted fresh and light.

Desserts were to be served later on, once the guests had danced and exhausted some of their energy. The added sugar of the desserts would be warmly welcomed by then.

However, Margaret's stomach turned at the thought of dancing and jumping for over eight minutes per dance. Sitting straight at dinner had already been a challenge. She'd been without corset the last two days, since it upset her stomach, but now she had to suffer through it.

She excused herself and went in search of a more quiet living or drawing room where she could recover from the hours of sitting upright during dinner.

**x.X.x**

Her stomach pain was building and she wished for nothing more than to curl up between her bed covers and beg for sleep to take her. She noticed a light coming out of a room close to the front door.

Finally.

A slim lady dressed in white exited the room.

'Oh!'

'Oh, I thought everyone was still at dinner!'

'They are – most of them. I apologize, I wrongly assumed guests were free to take a walk towards a sitting room for some quiet after dinner.'

'They are. You are!'

Her black hair must have been very long since the bun on her head and the braids surrounding it were incredibly thick.

'Miss Margaret Hale', Margaret decided.

The lady looked at her for a couple of seconds, her hands wringing together where she held them in front of her stomach.

'Lady Elisabeth…' The lady took a long pause, her hands rubbing her own arms, 'Aldridge, Elisabeth Aldridge.'

'Are- Are you? I thought Sir Aldridge was unmarried?'

'Oh dear, no. He is unmarried. The thought… I'm his sister.'

'Pleased to make your acquaintance.'

'Pleased to make yours … Miss are you alright?'

Another violent stab had managed to take Margaret by surprising, causing her hand to fly towards her belly as her shoulders slightly hunched over.

'I'm perfectly alright. It's nothing of consequence.'

'Are you – you can't be, you're unmarried.'

'It's, it's just… Well… You know.'

'Oh, don't you have anything with you to alleviate the pain? I'm afraid since I didn't intend on visiting the ball I don't have my reticule on me. It usually has something in it to alleviate any aches. You could come with me towards my rooms? If you'd like.'

Margaret felt inclined to decline. She barely knew this lady, and it seemed strange to immediately accompany her towards her personal drawing room. Besides, she didn't resemble Sir Edward in the slightest. Though Margaret doubted someone would manage to get into his house and dress up in such a fine dress without being noticed by the servants.

'Oh, I wouldn't want you to feel the need to go upstairs, Miss. Please, I'll be alright.'

'As I've said, I just wanted to take a small look. I don't feel comfortable in big companies. I've stolen my glances when everyone was dancing and eating. I just came downstairs to retrieve my book. Come', the lady said and with a smile she took a step on the magnificent wooden stairs.

Margaret didn't have it in her to fight her, and followed her upstairs.

'It's a fine party your brother is hosting.'

'It is, isn't it? He's a great host but I must admit he's quite bad at organizing things like this. Every time again I assure him I'll take care of it, and each time again he insists on helping out. But the poor thing hasn't got a clue on how much of each dish needs to be made when he invites a certain amount of gets… He also hasn't got a clue how many fish need to be bought to go into a single soup. And then the practicalities like the music. Of course, we ladies know that there is a certain order in which melodies need to be played. People won't feel inclined to do a very energetic dance right at the beginning of the ball… They still feel to awkward! And a complicated dance is better not put at the very end, as you know', she laughed.

'No, I suppose not. You know a lot about balls for someone who doesn't enjoy them.'

'Oh I do enjoy them. I love to dance and eat and dress up! But I prefer more intimate gatherings with people I know. A big company leaves too much room for people to stare and gossip. But I understand my brother, he doesn't want to exclude or cause offence by not sending an invite to certain people. He was absolutely mortified a couple of weeks ago. He came into the house and the first thing that left his mouth was that he had met someone and realized he'd forgotten their family.'

Margaret bit her lip to refrain from letting on that the story was about her family.

'He said something about how he couldn't understand how he'd forgotten them. Apparently the father was a scholar who taught many of the younger sons and company owners and he quite enjoyed to talk with the young girl, pure friendship of course… Hake? Haim? Haine? Hale… Wait, I beg your pardon. What did you say your name was again?'

'It's… Margaret Hale.'

'Oh dear! And you didn't say anything. Now I feel even more embarrassed.'

'You didn't know me, you couldn't have reminded him.'

'Yes, but here I am talking about you without being aware of it! Oh well, at least you know my brother was deeply ashamed he forgot you.'

The lady opened a door. In the room was a large wooden table with a large candelabra. The room was furnished with lots of blue shades and on the wall hung a lovely textured blue paper with flower motif. The room looked wealthy and cosy and smelled of roses. Margaret noticed an white ceramic essential oil burner in the corner. A young maid sat in a comfortable chair near the window, embroidering a delicate fabric. She gave a small nod towards Margaret.

'Please sit down, I'll come to you in just a minute.'

She returned with two dark bottles: Dover's Powder and Laudanum tincture.

'If you want some?'

Margaret was in fact very much in want for something to end the pain, but didn't wish to use a medicine again. They made her drowsy and tired and less careful with her words while she already felt that simply being awake and walking around commanded much of her energy in her weakened state. Yet, she couldn't possibly face Mr Thornton if she felt like she could double over any instant. Lady Aldridge had already gone through the effort of taking her upstairs and fetching her these bottles. She couldn't refuse.

'Perhaps a little Laudanum. Only a little though, I need to remain awake for some time still', Margaret tried with a smile.

'Yes, they make me drowsy too, a horrible side effect if I'm simply looking for something to alleviate my complaints. Anne, fetch Miss Hale a glass of sweet white wine please.'

The maid nodded and left the room.

'So, what do you think of the party?' the lady asked.

'Oh, it's magnificent. The dinner was incredibly lavish and stunning to look at. I thought it especially clever how only fish were used. And the music was very good as well.'

'Thank you. I do enjoy hearing the evening is a success. May I ask how old you are? You appear to be a bit older than me.'

'I'm nineteen.'

'I'm seventeen. I just finished school this semester. But I still don't know what to do with my life now. What do you do to keep occupied?'

'What do you mean?'

'Oh well, I feel like I'm easily bored. Just sitting in the house all day, reading books and embroidering… It's not my thing, and I don't have many acquaintances in town. Liverpool only has one way of viewing people like me, while London doesn't. People are quick to judge here.'

'I find that Liverpudlians don't look down on people as much as they do in London. Clothes are less important, trades are less looked down upon. People who start their life from scratch are less looked down upon than those inheriting money it seems.' 'Yes, but the people here are more traditional… We're a major harbour town and therefore know a lot about other people and cultures but they don't mix the way they do in London.'

'Yes, I suppose I understand you. London society has quite the amount of unique and colourful personalities.'

'It's unfortunate that the whole city stinks so much.'

'I suppose it does', Margaret smiled.

The maid came back in and offered Margaret her drink mixed with the opiate in it.

'So you stay upstairs on your own?'

'Yes.'

'And do you dine alone while so many guests are downstairs?'

'Yes. Well, I don't mind. Anne keeps me company and it's nice and cosy here. I know once all the boats set out, my brother and I will travel towards some of our friends the coming few months. I'm looking forward to that. That's for me, this ball is for the people downstairs.'

'Oh I refuse to let you be here all by yourself. I insist on taking dessert with you.'

'Oh no, miss, I wouldn't want to keep you from the party.'

'I'm hardly in the mood for partying tonight.'

'But surely you have not come on your own? Will not your relatives wonder about your whereabouts?'

'I suppose you are correct. I believe my father to enjoy this evening with some of the men he teaches though. We were sat apart during the meal, I believe we will be again during desserts, but I do wish to inform him.'

'You are quite convinced. I shall not keep you from keeping me company as I wouldn't mind talking to someone new.'

And so Margaret slipped downstairs and quietly informed her father that she would be taking a rest from the festivities with another lady and a maid. Her father agreed and she made her way back towards the stairs.

'Margaret! Miss Hale, there you are! I've been looking all over for you. I believed you to have vanished on the spot. Where on earth were you?'

Mary walked towards her with a big smile.

'In this house. Why were you looking for me? Was your fiancé not attentive?' Mary understood what Margaret was asking.

'No he was very kind. But I let him spend time with the men. He's going to lose some of his friends for the coming couple of months, they're allowed to spend this evening together. Can a friend not be curious about a friend?'

'I- I was with Lady Aldridge.'

'Sir Edward's sister is at home? I thought she was at boarding school. I've heard so much about her! I heard she's quite a talented pianist, and makes the most wonderful pressed flowers. Could you introduce me? I've heard about her for years but I've never met her.'

Margaret took a moment to reflect. Miss Aldridge mentioned how she felt uncomfortable around people she didn't know. She didn't wish to be a part of the party. Should Margaret push her to accept a second person?

'Oh please, Margaret?'

Margaret in that instant knew why miss Aldridge wouldn't enjoy company. They all expected Sir Edward's sister to be a certain way she would undoubtedly be not. But Mary was a very kind and open person, perhaps it would be fine.

'I shall ask her, since she wasn't even keen on my company. But do not take offense when she doesn't desire it, she's quite… shy.'

'Oh of course, she is the lady of the house. She probably has her reasons if she chooses to remain upstairs while there's such a splendid party going on.'

**x.X.x**

'Lady Aldridge, I have returned.'

'Oh, Miss Hale. Good. The servants have brought up more plates and desserts than we can ever finish. My brother has reserved a whole Solomon's Temple for me, and there's rum cake, apricot ice cream, biscuits and a couple of water ices.'

'Oh, oh my… They look lovely. Wonderful even. To have ice cream in the middle of winter is a true treat.'

'Yes, I adore it when we're finally allowed to have some. Miss Hale, why are you standing by the door still?'

'I have a question. While coming back I ran into a dear friend of mine, Mary Gallagher. She desperately wishes to meet you.'

Lady Aldridge's entire composure shifted. Her shoulders were stiff and her hands connected and she wrung them in a nervous manner.

'Oh.'

'She's one of the kindest, sweetest people I've met. I would accept whichever answer you give, as does she. But I felt it would be rude and presumptuous to decline in your name. We both accept whichever answer you'll give.'

'Oh, yes indeed. I don't wish to give any offense. It's just that… Well.. Alright, I suppose two people can't do harm', she decided while biting her lip.

'Bring her in.' Her hands paled where they held each other.

Margaret called Mary in and introduced the two ladies.

In Mary's defence, she didn't gape, but her eyes were quite incredulous.

They sat down.

'I am so glad to finally meet you. I have heard a great deal about you from your brother. Well, never a lot but over the years I have come to know quite some things about you. Is it true that at age 12 you already played that one piece which – '

'Yes.'

'Perhaps you might one day teach me. I'm always staring in amazement at the works other ladies produce but find myself lacking in classic female talents like drawing, painting and embroidering dresses.'

'Oh I don't know. I'm not particularly impressed with my own art. Nor would I know how to explain what I do.'

'Did you create that painting?'

'Oh… Yes I did. But I'm creating better ones now though.'

Mary walked towards a bright painting of oriental buildings.'

'India?'

'Yes.'

'I heard it's lovely there… according to my brother. Have you been?'

'No, I came to England when I was four, from the second my parents believed I was strong enough to make the long trip.'

That explained the black hair and tan skin. It would have been rude to ask but now the dots connected. The old Lord Aldridge had married twice, once with a lady who died from disease and once with a woman whom he'd met during a trip to the Indies. But both women were dead now, as was the old Lord Aldridge. Margaret wondered if this was why Lady Aldridge eschewed social meetings with strangers, they would probably stare because she looked different.

'Yes, it is quite long. I don't envy those undertaking it. It has become safer but it's still dangerous, especially when the seasons are changing. So many ships have gone under.'

'Yes, it is my fear as well that some of my friends who travel are potentially risking their lives. I forbid my brother from travelling beyond Europe.'

'I wish I could force my brother to stop. But it's hard when one is in trade.'

'If only we could arm us against the weather the way we can arm ourselves against pirates', Lady Aldridge sighed.

'It would be lovely. For a second I thought those steam boats could help us, but alas, they always break down at sea.'

'Steam engines might be good for mining but I doubt they'll ever work at sea', Lady Aldridge agreed.

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation.

'Lady Aldridge, your deserts.'

Five servants came in carrying platters of luxurious deserts. Shiny silver plates carrying fruits and biscuits were carried in, together with porcelain pots containing apricot ice cream. A lovely rum cake was put on the table as well. And then, the crown jewel of all the expensive deserts was carried in: a Solomon's temple jelly.

'Oh my god.'

'Thank you. Give the kitchen my compliments. They all look gorgeous.'

The kitchen staff left.

'I can't believe my brother let them make another Solomon's Temple just for me.'

'It's stunning', Mary said while analysing the lovely pastel colours of the treat.

'What's that?' Margaret asked, pointing towards the cake.

'Oh, it's a rum cake. It's a cake I grew up with when I was little. The cook, who had lived in the Caribbean for a couple of years, made it a lot.'

The surprised look of the two other ladies caused Lady Aldridge to further explain.

'Rum was a popular drink there, as it is sugarcane based while there are a lot of plantations in the region.'

'Well I'd like some, I've never tried it before.'

**x.X.x**

In the end they ate and talked far too much. But with a steady supply of tea and good conversation an hour and a half went by in a blink.

In that hour they agreed to try and play piano and paint together sometime in the near future.

By eleven o'clock Margaret's stomach pains had quieted down and she was happily and drowsily listening to the other two ladies discussing a book they'd read. She tried to form visuals in her head to accompany the story and thought of the writer carefully writing chapters with little breadcrumbs to reveal the plot twist. She wondered if she herself could do it.

Perhaps she could write an adventure story about her brother's ordeals while disguising everything so that nobody would know who it was about. But just as she was halfway into thinking of a sentence to open a chapter with, the thought plopped like a bubble. The opiate made it hard to focus.

'Oh but is that the time already! Oh, I cannot keep the two of you any longer. You've been upstairs for way too long. Go back to your families. I've really enjoyed tonight. I've decided I shall trust the two of you. We will meet again. I shall try to send invitations for a fun afternoon somewhere in the next few days.'

'I really loved meeting you, Lady Aldridge. It was a delightful pleasure to finally make your acquaintance', Mary smiled.

'Oh, just Lady Elisabeth or Miss Elisabeth will be fine when we are in private, Miss Gallagher.'

'Then I shall expect the same courtesy of you, lady Elisabeth.'

'As do I', Margaret decided.

'Very well.'

They took their leave and descended downstairs. The party was still going strong and all the younger people were still dancing.

The ballroom gleamed golden in the light of hundreds of long wax candles, spreading their soft smell, mingled with the colognes of all the guests. The rich ladies were still dancing without tiring and the local girls were also dancing and gossiping. Margaret's eyes scanned the room in an attempt to spot her father, but a figure came to stand in front of her before she spotted him.

'Miss Hale, would you be ever so kind and do me the honour of having the next dance?' Mr Ball asked.

'Oh, Mr Ball I- Well. Alright.'

'Delightful!'

She followed him into the room and finally spotted her father. He was talking with the Mr. Gallagher. The current song ended before she knew it, and then she found herself being dragged along in a boulanger. The jumping and turning made her head dizzy, and as her head was drowsy the dance demanded a lot of active attention. The dance was just fine, but she feared Mr Ball was quite disappointed with her lacklustre attempt at conversation.

The dance ended with her standing beside Mr Ball and in front of Sir Aldridge.

'Miss Hale, shall we show them how proper London folks dance a Cotillon?'

'Oh, but aren't your London friends better? It's been half a year since I last sat foot in a high society ballroom. Your female friends are lovely dancers, they're a delight to watch.'

'Ah, but they're so used to it. We can't let your skills grow rusty. Yet, I do not wish to pressure you Miss Hale. I shall ask someone else if you're not feeling up to it, it's no problem at all. You shouldn't feel obliged to in any way.'

'Oh no, it's fine. I just thought others would be more suited.'

'It has come to my attention that your presence has been most notably absent from the dance floor. As a good host I wish to entertain everyone. You look lovely, you shouldn't sit on the side', he said as he offered her an arm.

'Oh, but I wasn't sitting on the side', she hurriedly explained as they walked towards the orchestra.

'Indeed?' he asked.

'I've had the pleasure of having desert with your sister.'

'You did?'

His whole composure changed, turning restless and worried.

'She's truly a lovely girl.'

'Yes… She is.'

His gaze had never before been so analysing. As if he was looking for any hidden depths behind her words.

The dance started.

'Might I enquire as to where you met her?'

She waited to answer the question until she had returned to her position beside him, there hands entwined.

'In the hallway downstairs, where I was walking after dinner. She was looking for a book she was reading.'

He nodded slowly.

'Yes, she does tend to leave them lying everywhere. To whom have you spoken of her?'

'No one. Well, except Miss Gallagher because I went downstairs to tell my father I wouldn't be having desert in the banquet hall. I encountered Miss Gallagher and she demanded to know where I was going, then she desired to be introduced to her as well.'

'And was she?'

'She was. The three of us had a most pleasant conversation.'

Margaret wondered what all the questions were about. Didn't he trust them? Weren't they allowed to talk to her?

'She invited us back to paint together', Margaret said in a feeble attempt to kill the awkwardness.

'Oh, that's lovely. She really enjoys painting.'

It worked. The questioning gaze was suddenly swapped with a smile, and all tenseness disappeared from his shoulders.

'Yes, indeed. As do I.'

'You must have made a good impression. My sister is quite selective about her company. I salute you Miss Hale, I am glad you two get along.'

Ah, there it was. He wondered whether her company was desired by Lady Aldridge. With telling him his sister had invited her to spend more time together, he knew their contact had been good.

She wondered whether it was a known fact that his father had married a woman of colour after his mother had died. Perhaps he feared what society would think or that they would treat his sister unjustly.

'Yes, I like her very much. I look forward to keeping in touch.'

Sir Aldridge nodded with a smile. She took another turn and noticed just how many eyes were on them, as they were so close to the orchestra and as she was dancing with the very single host.

And then –

She bumped against him as she was too focussed looking at the people who were looking at them.

'Oh – Oh I am so sorry. Excuse me Sir Al–'

'Really Miss Hale, it is alright. It's becoming quite late. We all lose focus sometimes.'

Her cheeks burned. But everyone was looking at them! Her stomach twisted. If only she didn't have her flow! If only she hadn't taken that opiate! Without it she would have suffered but she would have been alert enough to not make such a mistake.

The dance ended quickly after and Sir Aldridge escorted her back to the sideline.

'Miss Hale, you are alright, aren't you? You really needn't be embarrassed.'

'I'm afraid I didn't set a good example of how a good Cotillon is done.'

'Oh Miss Hale, it was perfectly perfect except for the one mistake. You still are very light of foot and your moves are delightfully smooth. Besides, I think most people don't care anymore', he comforted her.

'But I shall leave you be so that you can rest. The night is getting long, perhaps with some water and some rest you can re-energise yourself… Ah! Talking about refreshments… There is the punch!'

Gorgeous ornamented cups were being carried in by the servants, with dainty spoons sitting in the cool drink.

Sir Aldridge took two and handed her one.

They drank their punch and then he let her go to fetch another dancing partner.

Moving along the sideline of the dance floor, she spotted Mr Thornton near the entrance of the room.

Mr Thornton! Right. The talk.

She really wasn't in the best state for a big conversation, but she didn't know if she would see him another time before he left. She simply had to have the conversation now.

'Mr Thornton. Could I have a word?'

Mr Thornton was as kind as to not look surprised or angry, and just gave her a curt nod.

She lead them out of the ballroom and into a more secluded part of the hallway.

'Mr Thornton, I would like to talk to you about the day of the failed raid because…'

'Miss Hale, I believe you made yourself perfectly clear. I think the less is said of that day, the better.'

She blinked in confusion. She hadn't expected him to give such a reaction. Her stomach started twisting again out of nervousness. Why was she always so nervous around him. He'd never given her reason to fear him. Perhaps she should oblige, she had slighted him and he was asking her to not discuss that moment again.

No! No. He said that because he did not understand her! She had to continue.

'Well… I disagree.' Bringing the words in a confident manner required all energy she had left.

His face might as well have been a stone wall. It gave nothing away. She saw that a storm was brewing behind his icy blue eyes, but he didn't give any reaction. How could someone who claimed to be so devoted to her, have so little emotion when talking to her?

_Well… He had said that she needn't be worried about him giving anything away._

'I fear I have not expressed myself all that well. I did not react like a lady. What I said was rude and uncalled for. You talked to me in an earnest matter and I insulted your person. I shouldn't have. I have no rights to ask anything of you. You have no reason to believe me, but I did not mean those insults.'

'Then why did you say them?' he asked after a prolonged silence in which she awaited his reaction.

'Because… Because I did not desire your proposal. I'm not used to proposals and I fail to respond to them in a correct manner. As I didn't want a proposal I tried my very best to make it clear it, and whoever delivering it, were unwanted.'

This, at last, seemed to surprise him.

'That day you said you are at a moment in your life where marriage is welcome. I am not. As someone who waited for the right time, I hope you can understand why I refuse every proposal.'

Every proposal. Not just his.

The wheels in John Thornton's mind started turning. What would keep a young woman of marital age from entering matrimony? He was wealthy enough, and if she indeed didn't mean the insults then what reason did she have?

Her mother. Dear God, it was her mother. She had only returned to her family a month or so before they moved to Liverpool. And in Liverpool her mother became ill. Would he leave his mother behind to go and live with another family if she was ailing? He wouldn't. Of course dutiful little Margaret wouldn't dream of abandoning her family in their hour of need.

It was a cold shower to say the least. He'd been angry with her for being mean and cruel. She'd cut him where it hurt the most. But now, with growing shame, he realized that he knew how bad her mother's illness was and had still thought it a good idea to propose to Margaret. Actually, he hadn't thought of her mother at all when proposing, and now realized his error.

How selfish and arrogant must he have seemed, when while in full knowledge how ill her mother was, to ask Margaret to abandon her and leave her father to care for his ill wife all by himself. He knew Mr Hale! He loved his wife dearly. Her loss could very well destroy him, and then to be left without a daughter to lean on! Of course Margaret had thought of them instead of herself when deciding on whether she'd marry him. It was who she was.

'I understand.'

'So please, Mr Thornton, I won't ask you to forgive me for being rude on that day… But could we continue on as friendly acquaintances?'

'You said yourself I didn't behave as a gentleman that day. How about we agree that we both weren't on our best behaviour? I already told you I would treat you and your family as I have before.'

'I know. But I really wanted to clarify some things.'

'Consider them clarified, Miss Hale. You can rest assured that your reputation, or the friendship between our families, won't be spoiled because of me. However, I cannot warrant your reputation if you take men apart, away from the crowd.'

Margaret's cheeks flushed scarlet as she realized that if people had been paying attention, they might have wondered what she and Mr Thornton went to do. However, they were still in a very public location, with a respectable distance between them. It would be strange but not inappropriate.

'Yes. Of course.'

'Ah! Mr Thornton. There you are!' yelled Mr Ball when he noticed the beautiful Margaret standing together with the other company owner.

'I had to fetch you. Sir Aldridge wishes to make a speech!'

Mr Thornton nodded, and threw a questioning glance towards Margaret. After a short nod of her, Mr Thornton smiled at Mr Ball.

'Why of course. We shall come. Our conversation was finished anyway.'

'Oh – what was the conversation about? Did our Miss Hale find something disagreeable again?' he asked with a jest.

'As a matter of fact it was just a normal question about how our boats shall sail towards the Indies. But there was far too much noise in the ballroom', Mr Thornton lied quickly.

By the time they entered the ballroom, the speech had started.

'Tonight, we celebrate, for tomorrow or at another point this week, we shall depart for exciting business ventures which will add to the prosperity of our town, and our own families and businesses. My friends, I wish you the best of weather and the most favourable of winds.'

Sir Aldridge lifted the glass towards the men who were to leave, who had all gone to stand together.

Mr Ball took over, waving his glass and smiling at his fellows, then to the others in the room.

'May we make deals which are beneficial to us and make up for the harsh winter we had. And family, friends, ladies, do not weep for our absence. I wish to remember you as you are now: joyful and lovely. It breaks my heart to be parted from your joyful company but until we meet again, we shall have our memories. I pray distance makes the heart grow fond, and that you shan't forget us. In a month or two we shall return and I promise you: we shall have a good deal of fun then.'

Mr Ball gazed intently at Margaret, hoping she got the clue that he wished for her heart to grow fond. But she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was simply roaming the room. Once he looked away, her eyes connected with those of Mr Thornton's. She gave him a small tentative smile, a further peace offering.

There, she'd done what she had set out to do. He wouldn't propose again, but he wouldn't hate her either.

With the adrenaline and sense of duty leaving her body, all complaints came to the foreground. The headache, the drowsiness, the supressed stomach ache, her tired limbs, the heat of her body in the warm room. She ever so subtly tried to make her way for the exit. She wouldn't be able to last in the heat.

'Miss Hale?'

Of course, her escape wouldn't have gone unnoticed.

'Miss Hale, you aren't alright. Are you? You appear quite flushed.'

'I'm alright, Sir Aldridge. Thank you very much.'

'Miss Hale, you're flushed, your head wasn't with you when we were dancing… You've been avoiding the ballroom… You aren't alright, are you?'

'I'm not, I'm sorry. But it is a splendid party I swear! I'm so sorry to make you worry.'

'Miss Hale, I'm the host. It is my job to make sure my guests are well. I shall order you a carriage. I don't want you here out of a sense of obligation. It won't hurt me if you go home because you are unwell. I don't want you to suffer.'

'But my father!'

'I shall inform him and ask him whether he wishes to accompany you home. Either way, I guarantee you he will get home safely as well. Come, I shall escort you to a living room at the front of the house.'

And so, before she could exchange one more word with Mr Thornton, and before Mr Bell managed to make another move, Margaret Hale and Mr Hale were escorted towards a carriage and delivered safely on their doorstep.

It took John another hour to realize she wasn't just elsewhere but had indeed gone home. He wouldn't be able to ask her any more questions, nor would he be able to talk to her to gauge what she did think of him. Instead he would spend the next three months on edge. Had her parents been healthy, would she have accepted him?

Or did she indeed not care for him and was her mother's health simply the main reason why she declined?

He knew that it didn't matter what she felt as long as her mother remained ill, but he did pray each day that she _did_ care for him.

* * *

I'm back! I'm sorry for the extended absence. I struggled with this chapter and had a busy couple of weeks.

To my dear readers: thank you for waiting and still following. And to those who take the time to comment: sari18, EyreGirl, Windyandstormy, mariantoinette1 and the guest readers... Thank you so much for commenting! it means so much to me! It brings a smile to my face each time I get a notification on my phone. I appreciate you all very much.

Now on to the notes:

\- Invites were printed in the 1820's but printing was expensive so they were printed in bulk with blank spaces for names and dates. Since Sir Edward forgot the Hale family, theirs would have probably been written since he'd exhausted his purchase of printed invites.

\- Wax candles had a soft smell and were quite expensive, as opposed to cheap candles which were made of – and reeked of - fat. By using many candles a host showed how wealthy they were since they could afford to burn that many high quality candles for one evening. The length of the candles also indicated how long the host estimated the evening would last.

\- A Solomon's temple: Recipes for Solomon's Temples in Flummery first appeared in Mrs Raffald's cookery book of 1769. These usually had a central obelisk surrounded by four towers in the form of cones. Mrs Raffald's recipe instructs us to fill the base of the mould with chocolate flummery and to decorate the points with flowers and sprigs.

\- Service à la française meant that all dishes of a course were served at the same time: all the soups and appetizers, all parts of the main course (singe in that time multiple dishes were made per course during larger dinners), all desserts together, … It had some disadvantages: as everything was served at the same time, by the time you finished a portion of one soup, the other would already be colder by the time you ate it. There also wasn't enough of each dish for everyone. The chances of you eating the same things as the person who sat very far away from you were slim. So not all guests could have tried all the dishes, but they still would have had a broad variety. In the latter half of the 19th century _service à la russe _came into fashion. This meant individual butlers served everyone. Everyone got their food hot and everyone ate the same things.

\- The Liverpool and Manchester Railway Company by Henry Booth. Survey ran from 1922 to 1924. The survey was presented to Parliament on 8 February 1825. It was rejected, estimates were 40 000 but it would cost 200 000 going through Chat Moss


	14. Ships on the horizon

I'm sorry for my absence. In that month I graduated, started a new Master Degree, had to settle into uni life again, and had to arrange so much…  
I also may have accidentally fallen in love with Sanditon and my creative juices flowed straight towards fanfiction for that series. I encourage everyone to watch it. It's historically inaccurate, it's a bit dramatic, but I really enjoyed it. It also got better as the series progressed. Tomorrow's the finale and I just can't wait for it! But after 2 finished fanfics for it (check them out on my Archive Of Our Own account: Muze) and one unfinished, and my life almost in order, I could come back to this fic again!

I still love it very much, I promise I won't quit it. I just had a lot of difficulty writing this chapter, since the last was really the end of the First Act of the three act structure I have in my head. Thornton's in love with Margaret, Margaret's feelings are starting to change, the side characters are developing… It was difficult to continue :p

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_What if I said I would break your heart? What if I said I have problems that made me, mean? What if I knew I would just rip your mind apart Would you let me out? Maybe you can stop before you start Maybe you can see that I just may be too crazy to love If I told you solitude fits me like a glove Would you let me out?_

_You ought to know where I'm coming from How I was alone when I burned my home And all of the pieces were torn and thrown You should know where I'm coming from_

_You Should Know Where I'm Coming From - BANKS_

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The men left and those who stayed home settled into the for them usual rhythm of their life without them.

Margaret finally got her desired peace and quiet. Yet it was anything but what she'd imagined. There were no more dinner parties and no more conflict. It was odd how at first she had begged for quiet weeks where she didn't have to face any of the company owners and the conflicts they brought with them, but their physical absence didn't make them disappear from her mind. . Their presence was still felt everywhere in Liverpool. They were mentioned every day, and the lack of seeing them in real life confronted Margaret with how much she thought of them even when she didn't have to see them.

She found herself wondering about the intentions of Mr Ball and when Fanny Thornton described how obvious his search for a wife had been the past couple of years. When rain rolled down her window, she found herself worrying about potential storms at sea because Mr Slickson who always cut edges in an attempt to save money.

When talking to Mary she was confronted with just how worried the families were of the men who had left were, despite that they perfectly functioned without them. Mary's mother waited for a new letter each day, despite knowing that they would only arrive once every week at best. They read local weather reports and asked all ships which docked into the harbour to hear where they'd come from, and if they had heard something from the Liverpudlian ships.

On the first Sunday after the ships had taken off they met up with Lady Elisabeth to paint. They started out with a flower bouquet and both other ladies hadn't lied when they said their skills were limited. Yet they enjoyed the collective painting session as they talked about last week's party and music.

At the end of the afternoon they had some tea together with Lady Elisabeth's maid and Sir Aldridge. Apparently Sir Aldridge insisted on taking all meals and tea together with his sister.

'Ah ladies, how did your painting session go? May I admire your works of art?'

'Absolutely not.'

'If you wish.'

'They're unfinished', the three ladies answered in perfect discord.

They exchanged glances amongst themselves for a couple of seconds.

'You may do as you please brother. They're drying in the purple drawing room upstairs. But they're unfinished and so not as pretty as they could be. Perhaps if you would wait, we could show you a series of finished paintings in say, a month or two? Then you cannot only examine our paintings but our evolution as well.'

'Alright then. I shall look forward to it. Ah yes, Mrs Hurst, you can put the scones right here on the table. You can leave everything, I'll take it from here.'

'So, Miss Hale, I believe I owe you an apology', Sir Aldridge confessed while pouring tea into the cups. 'I was quite inquisitive at the party last week upon discovering you met my sister. I was far too direct. I was presumptive, and despite knowing you to be a kind spirit I somehow assumed you would think the same about my sister just like certain other people.'

'The same how? If I may ask Sir Aldridge', Margaret asked.

'Shocked. Disgusted by our father mixing the good old English blood. And if not that: assume her to be a maid in her own house. It has happened more often than I'd like to admit that someone addressed her like a maid in spite of the way she was dressed. It is why my sister dislikes big crowds and isn't as much a part of my public life as I'd like her to be. I didn't know whether I could trust you. I feared you might tell others about her. Same for you, Miss Gallagher. I should have known better, I knew the two of you after all.'

'It is alright, Sir Aldridge. You are protective of your sister. No one can blame a brother for wanting to protect the reputation of his sister and to shield her from mean spirited interactions.'

'Yes, after all, Liverpool has proven itself to be quite judgemental about those who don't fit in', Mary admitted while looking at Margaret. Margaret nodded silently while sipping from her tea.

'Luckily, most of our group of acquaintances are quite tolerant.'

'In some ways, but certainly not in others. We are only understanding and supportive of social climbing. I personally think that for us and our families, who are so used to be looked down upon by those who came into money by birth, we should be a great deal more humble about modern and different things. It is how we became the way we are, by going against the way life was set out for us to be. Yet when someone has another colour, or when someone acts in a way that isn't deemed respectable, we judge them by the same old standards that have been put in place by the aristocracy over a hundred years ago.'

'You are quite right, miss Gallagher', Lady Elisabeth smiled.

'But I do not blame others for assuming, though my brother does. People judge the things they encounter by what they know. If the only time they encounter someone with a different skin colour is when those persons are working in low ranking jobs, or as Abigails, it is no wonder they assume me to be a servant. In the Indies mixed babies are common but those babies rarely make the journey overseas.'

Mary and Margaret had the decency to blush.

'But if their wives are residing in the Indies…'

'More often than not, they're not their wives. The women they have the babies with are local.'

Upon seeing Miss Gallagher's and Miss Hale's shocked faces, Lady Georgiana continued.

'Not all of them do so no, but a good chunk. I don't wish to insinuate anything. But there's no use in lying about how most people like me come into this world.'

'I understand you, Lady Elisabeth, though the idea troubles me deeply.'

Women getting children from men who weren't their husbands. It was no wonder Mary's thoughts started to roam. In fact, Margaret knew exactly where her thoughts were at present.

She remembered how Thornton had said it was a regular occurrence. Now she knew why men kept it quiet. The thought that a young girl of seventeen might become stepmother to a bastard baby she'd never meet was impossible to live with. She wondered how the men coped with this knowledge. It hardly seemed worth it. What could be worth the disease, the soiling of women and the possibility of a children out of wedlock? What could be possibly worth it?

It intrigued her, but she accepted that she wouldn't like the answer, so she tried to think no more of it.

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Blue muslins. She remembered Edith wearing a colour in this shade since it perfectly matched the colour of her eyes. She wondered if she still wore it in Corfu. Winters in Greece were a lot milder than they were in England, but Margaret doubted they would be warm enough for that particular dress.

She tried to imagine celebrating Christmas without seeing snow. She tried to imagine New Year's Day being as sunny as Easter. It seemed odd.

'Margaret, which fabric should I take?'

'Hmm?'

Her attention was drawn back towards the pink patterned and the pink glossy shade of silk held up by Mary.

'The fabric for the wedding dress Miss Hale, where are you with your thoughts?'

'It's nothing, my apologies. I think the pattern looks lovely and the fabric looks sturdier too.'

'Always practical, aren't we. But now I am curious. Was it a man?'

'No! There was just a fabric which reminded me of a dress my cousin liked to wear. I lived with her and my aunt for years. Sometimes it is still strange to not have her near me. We haven't been separated this long since we were little girls.'

'Oh, that's dreadful Miss Hale. Now I feel guilty for asking. You're right though, the pink pattern is very pretty and it would be perfect for a spring wedding, even on a chillier day. I'll let the seamstress make a couple of sleeves to go with it in case the day is very cold. You know, we should go to London. I want my dress to be at the height of fashion.'

Margaret smiled and followed her friend to a wall filled with ribbons.

After a careful selection of short pieces of fabric and ribbon to present to Mrs. Gallagher, they returned home for tea.

'You know, Margaret, I am still sorry for calling you out like that in the shop.'

'It's fine, Mary. I should have been more present.'

'It's just… I know it is a naughty question… But have you ever been in love?'

'What?' Margaret asked with a laugh after she swallowed a piece of sandwich.

'Well, you're like nineteen. And you're becoming twenty this year. You've lived in London for years, and have been in Liverpool for about five months… Don't tell me you've never even seen a man you considered handsome.'

'Handsome? Of course. But love is a big thing. Just being handsome can't make a woman fall in love, surely?'

'No, it doesn't but it can help a lot. I personally don't think there are many men I've met that are more handsome than my Mr. Kearney.'

Margaret could recognize he was handsome, but he honestly wasn't that tempting.

'So?'

'So… I don't even know what love feels like. If we don't know how an emotion feels, how can we know we are experiencing it?'

'Ah yes, it is difficult. Especially for us since we're kept in the dark. But have no fear, I've read many books and believe myself to be very much in love and I've recognized a certain couple of sensations and thoughts which together, form a unique combination which probably indicates love. It's just my experience and the experience of other engaged ladies I've talked with, but it will have to do. Are you ready to hear my discoveries?'

'I suppose I can't stop you from presenting the results of your study. Do say.'

'Well, first of all, there's the heartbeat. It always picks up when said person is near you. In the beginning you don't know if you're nervous for the event, for making mistakes or in love… But your heartbeat will rise even in situations where you shouldn't be nervous. Your breathing will be irregular. Everything feels weird.'

_Her body registered a sensation not unfamiliar to the sensation of falling. He stepped closer still, and she felt ever so small and powerless. Her stomach felt uneasy, her heart hammered in her chest, even her breathing felt constricted. _

_Restless behaviour, a wild heartbeat, shaking hands…_

'Secondly, you always manage to find them in a crowd, it's like your eyes instinctively find that person.'

_Her eyes singled out the tall figure in black on all occasions. She spotted him first in any crowd, even out of the corner of her eye. She could always feel his gaze._

'Thirdly, you can't stop thinking about them and you can't find a good reason why. You lose sleep, you lose passion. It's like you're falling ill. You pick up your favourite instrument but can't play a note. You try to focus on writing a letter but your mind starts to drift. It's nonsensical.'

_How was it that he haunted her imagination so persistently? What could it be? Why did she care for what he thought, in spite of all her pride… in spite of herself?_

_Why did she tremble, and hide her face in the pillow that night and the nights following? What strong feeling had overtaken her at last?_

_She prayed to God for understanding and for peace of mind, but neither came. _

_Food couldn't evoke any appetite, her paintings were left as untouched as they were the day he walked in. Even books she was really invested in couldn't hold her attention for more than an hour before her thoughts went to the failed raid and the proposal again._

'You also start doubting yourself in ways you never did before. It's like you can never say the right thing. You want to be on your best behaviour. You want to be without fault.'

_She only knew that she regretted her words as she spoke them and saw how they hit their mark. A cold feeling wrapped itself around her heart as his warm hands dropped her hand. _

'They're attractive to you. And sometimes you're ashamed to admit it. You look for them in crowds, you think of them in ways you shouldn't. You still know there are handsomer men on a technical level, and you want to admit that they aren't on the same level. But in your heart of hearts, you can't help but feel a certain way about their looks… Even when the looks of handsome men leave you cold.'

_"__One needn't be handsome to be attractive, Margaret love. But you don't understand that yet, I can see the confusion in your eyes. You talk of love as if it is a chore one has to do, dear girl, but the thing is… Loving isn't a thing you can do, it just happens. Your mind and body will know before you are even aware of it, despite their character and despite their looks."_

'Lastly, despite all the awful physical feelings, despite the fear, despite the pressure you feel on your behaviour, despite their looks, despite what you want in a husband… You still want to talk to them. It's like everything you want in a suitor doesn't matter anymore. Fate has decided. And you try to avoid it but trying not to think of it, trying not to look at them, trying to avoid them… it all feels wrong.'

Margaret hated how she had intuitively thought about Mr. Thornton for each characteristic of love Mary had described. She hated how they all fit.

She'd thought on it.

Since the proposal her unconscious, and even a small part of her conscious, had questioned her feelings for Mr. Thornton.

But she'd never been able to believe it. She had refused to believe it. She denied her emotions the night before the proposal. She suppressed the sadness after the proposal. She forced herself not to think of him, yet her behaviour had been just like the one described by Mary… She hadn't been productive. All her passions had gone. All her thoughts were occupied. If she wasn't paying attention, his image automatically appeared in her head.

'So, how many women are taken up in this study?'

'About seven, including myself. Why? Margaret, what do you think of it? Have you ever felt like that? You're my closest friend. It would be so nice to know I can talk to you about this, to know we both experienced the same thing.'

Margaret shook her head, but Mary pressed on.

'Oh god, you have. You wouldn't be avoiding the answer if you haven't. Do- Do I know him? Is he from here?'

'Mary…'

'He is! Is it Mr Ball?'

'Mary!'

'He does like to give you attention, and he's looking for a wife. Hmm, perhaps Sir Aldridge?'

'Mary!'

'What, you're friends. We're all friends. And he really likes you. I'm engaged so obviously I'm not an option. And we're the only two in Liverpool he allows to be close to his sister.'

Margaret shook her head, looking at the ceiling begging for divine guidance to avoid the answer.

'Who else is single? Mr. Thornton! No, that would be unlikely. You both argue so much. You're different like day and night. Though you're both disciplined and pragmatic. And you're both not overly emotional. But I don't think Thornton has a romantic bone in his body. That man seems to care only about his business. Especially after the near rumour you were after him… It would be so awkward if you suddenly… Wha- Margaret. Margaret are you blushing? Oh no, you're almost crying. Margaret dear what is it? I'm sorry did I speculate too much? I'm sorry. I should have been more sensitive. You didn't want to talk about it. Hey- hey! It's fine.'

'I – I…'

She couldn't get it past her lips. It was too intimate. She'd kept it bottled up for weeks.

But to have Mary talk about her and Mr. Thornton like that was too much.

She felt the urgent need to defend his character, though Mary hadn't been too wrong in describing it.

To hear from the lips of another that they did have things in common. To hear that she had acted in such a way that he was the least likely candidate for her to marry, it broke her.

'Margaret, talk to me. Please, you were there for me at the party, allow me to be here for you now. You can trust me. Oh Margaret, may I hug you?'

She nodded weakly and two hands started rubbing her upper arms.

'Shh, you're fine. Whatever it is. You're strong.'

'I'm stupid.'

'You're not. You're one of the smartest women I know, and a kind one at that. That's a rare combination!'

Margaret huffed a laugh, and even Mary had to supress a giggle.

After ten minutes, she had her breathing back under control.

'Mind telling me what that was about?'

'Mr. Thornton proposed.'

'Oh my god!'

'And I refused.'

Mary was just staring at her with an open mouth.

'And you're feeling bad because…'

'Because I… I think I love him.'

'But then why did you refuse?'

'My mother is gravely ill. And it's been hard for our family ever since moving because of it. I can't leave. What will happen to my father? I don't know what to do.'

'Do you want to get married to him at one point?'

'Maybe. But I don't know when. My mother won't get better again. To leave my father without mother there for him… I can't.'

'But Margaret, be practical. You equally can't wait to marry until your father dies. He's still in his fifties. He could still have twenty years to live. That's beyond childbearing age for you… You could take him with you when you marry. The Thorntons have rooms to spare, and your father and Mr. Thornton like each other.'

'It doesn't matter now, does it? I refused him.'

'Yes, but it can be just like in that one book. Persuasion! She refused Captain Wentworth once, but in the end, they're still in love so they decide to marry after all. Even years after the first proposal. It won't be as easy to get a man to propose a second time, but I'm sure it can be done. Have some hope, Margaret.'

'Currently, I have no desire to be near him. It makes me too nervous. I want to avoid him. I just want to focus on my family for now. Perhaps that'll change, but right now it won't. I'm glad he's gone, it gives me some respite.'

'Alright then, if that is your wish I shall help you. But Margaret, just know I'm here for you from now on. It's obvious you've struggled with so much for such a long time, it's a wonder you didn't crash earlier.'

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'Miss Hale, Miss Galagher, welcome again. I've been told by my sister that today is the day of the grand exhibition?'

'Well it is an exhibition but don't expect too much, Sir Aldridge', laughed Mary as she walked past him to stand with Lady Georgiana. Margaret also went to stand beside her in front of the door hiding the paintings they'd made the past couple of months.

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They'd painted an entire day each week, and always had tea afterwards with Sir Aldridge. They'd grown quite close, and any secrets they'd had at the beginning, had disappeared by the time Georgiana tentatively opened the door to reveal the paintings they'd all made.

First Lady Georgiana had been informed of Mary's conflicted feelings about Mr. Kearney, and then Mr. Kearney and the impending marriage had even been discussed in Sir Aldridge's presence since they couldn't be bothered to wait another week to talk about certain matters.

Sir Aldridge discussed his investments in London with them.

All three Liverpudlians took the time to thoroughly educate Margaret on what she didn't yet know about the town. One time when the weather was particularly mild, they even took a carriage ride through the city to show Margaret various spots and outlooks on the city she hadn't seen before.

Margaret informed them of the health of her mother, and explained that because of this, she was needed in the household a lot more than was habitual for ladies of her stance. Though luckily, her mother didn't deteriorate any farther, and her attitude was a lot more optimistic now that Spring had come.

Sir Aldridge confessed his love for a certain Lady he only dared name her Lady M. She was apparently above him both in matters of money and station, but he was absolutely besotted with her since they first met in London some years ago. She was the only child of a very rich man determined to enlarge the prestige and wealth of his family. As the only son of the only son of the family, he had been the sole heir. And since both he and his two sisters had been unable to produce male heirs, everything would go to his daughter. Since the name would end with her, he could only hope the honour of his family would be saved by her marrying into an even wealthier and better family, preferably with someone with an even higher title. That way, at least in his eyes, it would not be seen as the end of his family, but as the union of two strong families. His blood would be able to live on in the veins of noble lords and ladies, and this, in his eyes, was not a loss.

The lady's father had come to pass this Winter, and though Sir Aldridge still feared the lady would honour her father's wishes, he couldn't help but feel hope too. And so, every week, he came up with a new piece of information about her he'd heard from a friend, or a new idea to win her over. Hearing of Sir Aldridge's tale of woe managed to divert Margaret, and it succeeded in not making her feel as alone with her troubles of the heart.

And so they talked, and laughed, and comforted one another with soothing words. Of course, their families knew nothing of the cross gender friendships they'd formed, or about the private matters they discussed.

But the four of them, with the occasional addition of Miss De Vere who sometimes joined them on trips, were a closely knit group.

And so the three ladies were at a complete ease when Sir Aldridge observed their paintings of the parcs, birds, mantlepieces, fruit bowls, flower vases and sea sights and declared them "above what he had expected, though there weren't a lot of pieces worth hanging in halls of old aristocratic families."

Margaret had finally settled down in this rhythm, and ever since confiding in Mary, she'd felt a lot better mentally. Though she still carried the burden of her household, her mother's illness and her father's worry, talking about it had made her feel less alone.

And with time, she also processed the events from January. She'd come to accept her confusing feelings, and allowed herself to experience them even when she didn't want them. She knew now that she had always admired Mr. Thornton's vigour. And she knew that she loved him who was consistent, large, strong and tender, and yet a master. Yet she also accepted that since she'd refused him, she'd have to act accordingly. It wouldn't do them any good to confuse him with kindness when she didn't wish to marry him. She wasn't certain whether she'd be able to walk to fine line between being polite and kind, yet not hypocritical. She simply had to wait until the men arrived back home to see how they would interact from now on.

'You know what you should paint? The garden of Lady M. They're a true delight, right near the Scottish border. You could paint that garden for the rest of your lives and not be bored. She's got every type of rose there is to be found on this earth, and the outlook over the area from the terrace and the tower is simply divine. True beauty all year through. Those lovely delicate blossoms in spring, the lush green of all the trees and grass in the summertime and then the red ivy climbing up the castle walls in autumn.'

'It's indeed a pretty castle. I've accompanied my brother about two times now. We should go sometime.'

'Sir Aldridge? Lady Georgiana?'

'Yes, come in.'

'News just came in. The ships have been spotted on the horizon. They'll be here in a couple of hours.'

The men were back.

'Oh how exciting, we should go and greet them. Have you ever witnessed the ships returning, Miss Hale? It's quite extraordinary. Half of the city goes out to greet them at the docks, wine bottles are opened, it's quite the celebration. Even the big companies allow their labourers the rest of the day off, since almost everyone has relatives returning.'

'I haven't.'

'Would you like to? You're going, aren't you Edward?'

'Yes, I take it I shall', Sir Aldridge laughed.

'I'm not sure', Margaret confessed, suddenly feeling unsure all over again. Would it be strange to await the boats? There were multiple company owners returning, Thornton's boats might very well not be amongst the first ones to arrive back.

'Maybe I better head home. I'm sure I will meet everyone in due time. Today is for the reunion of family and friends. You've known these men for many years, Sir Aldridge, I haven't.'

Mary understood Margaret's conflict and threw her a pitying look.

'There are plenty of people who aren't connected to the people on the boats but are nevertheless curious about the arrival. But I shan't press on if you are uninterested.'

The company finished their tea and decided to withhold from making new plans until the men had settled in.

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At home everything went on as usual. Margaret did her chores. Her mother knitted and mended items while talking about childhood adventures of either Margaret or Frederick, or told Margaret unknown stories about her youth as a young Miss Beresford.

Her father had started doing more tutoring sessions again, since some of the men he taught had now returned.

Mr. Thornton hadn't been in the first group of boats, he'd arrived two days after Mr. Ball and Mr. Gallagher sr together with young Mr. Gallagher whose boat had been slower then the one of his father. Three days after that Mr. Slickson's boats had arrived. Two of them had needed repairs on the way, which had slowed them down.

The company owners had successfully brokered deals with Dutch, Spanish, French and even some inland countries on the continent. On the way back some had already sold some of their raw materials and processed products like spirits.

To Margaret it seemed like the money troubles caused by the cold winter would be forgotten by the summertime.

She would no doubt hear, because her father announced a dinner party was being hosted by Mr. Ball to celebrate the successful journey. So off they went, all three of them, to the dinner party.

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It had been some months since everyone had gotten together under one roof. Some of the children now stood a thumb higher, and all ladies had gotten wider sleeves, and some wider skirts.

Even the men had changed fashion. Now that he was back in large companies, Sir Aldridge stopped wearing his more comfortable but less fashionable older garments. But even the company owners, who usually wore their straight silhouettes and no nonsense clothes, had brought more fashionable clothes with them from London. No doubt they'd worn the most fashionable clothes to impress clients, Sir Aldridge explained as he and Margaret were watching everyone interact. They lacked title, and their fortune wasn't big, so they tried to present themselves as well as they could.

She had to admit it complimented most men. The collars were high and shawl-like in order to frame their faces, and she had to admit it complimented Mr. Thornton's strong jawline and Mr. Ball's sharp cheekbones in particular. Their waists were cinched in, a detail that stood out even more because of the broad shoulders, padded chests and mutton shaped sleeves.

Their preferred colours were still dark. Only Sir Aldridge pranced around in white trousers, a red vest and a midnight blue coat, the rest were all walking around in muted blues, browns and black.

'Margaret, I can't help but notice you seem to be in low spirits. Is something the matter?'

'Oh no, I'm just distracted.'

'It takes some time to get in it again, doesn't it? One gets out of the habit of being sociable.'

'Something along those lines, yes. I'm afraid I'm losing more of my London habits each day, I'm even starting to wonder how I entered conversation with vague acquaintances before. What is it you do if you feel like that?'

'Well, I search for someone I don't struggle with, like you. Then I stand by the side and get warmed up by talking with someone, like now. Then I start looking at the people, and I decide whose temperament suits my present temperament best. I hope I make eye contact with someone, and then I approach them with a smile and pretend like I'm not uncomfortable at all. And as I'm having an animated discussion, people join in. Which is fine for me, since I don't have to make the first step… Like now.'

'Mr Ball!'

'Ah, Sir Aldridge, Miss Hale. How do you fare?'

'Very well, thank you', Sir Aldridge smiled, but Mr. Ball was focussed on Margaret.

'I'm doing well. Thank you. How has your trip been?'

'Oh, wonderful… Yes, excellent even. If all goes well I'll be able to recuperate the losses of November and December and the trip to India at the end of summer shall be pure profit.'

'At the end of summer?'

'Yes, it's the winds you see? They change. It's almost impossible to get to India certain times of the year, and during some periods it's very hard to leave. The best thing to do, if you don't want to waste a lot of time, is to enter India during the last month of favourable winds and stay there until the winds change. It's easier to go to the America's, you can get there by the streams and currents. They're present almost year through.'

'May I ask why you visit India? I know you can get many things there, but isn't it more profitable to travel to the other places more often, all the time spent going to, remaining and returning from India could be invested in other ventures. No?'

'Well yes it's possible. But India is the meeting place of many cultures and many commercial routes both on land and by sea. It's the easiest place to meet foreign traders, and buy stuff from almost every important Asian country. The time spent there, repays itself in profit. Almost all companies want to go to India, but few are allowed to. And there are certainly those who have stopped going. Some have really managed to earn riches by working together with traders from other countries. They divide the foreign countries amongst them and each company bring the goods from the other countries with them to a meeting harbour, from which each company departs with goods from all the countries. Others really try to exploit their fastness. They buy the fastest ships and travel to countries that often, that they have new goods coming in each month. Some companies only buy and don't process their goods, which cuts out a lot of time. We, for example, process raw fabrics and some of us work with local business like mills, shoemakers and carpenters. There are many businesses right now either only shipping goods, or processing and then selling. The business is changing at a rapid pace, Miss Hale. I'm sorry, I'm boring you with my extensive talk of business. Am I not?'

'No, not at all Mr. Ball. It's as impossible for the men here to refrain from discussing business, as it is to wish for an England without rain. No, business will always be discussed, so it's better for me to understand it.'

'I'm glad, Miss Hale. Perhaps there might come a day our conversation will be more enjoyable than London conversation.'

'I already prefer Liverpool, if only for the people having more purpose and the conversations being less superficial.'

'Perhaps you might even be tempted to stay.'

'I don't know where the winds shall blow me, Mr. Ball. I have little say in the matter.'

He seemed encouraged by her words nonetheless, and with a smile, took his leave again.

For the remainder of the night, she noticed Mr. Thornton looking her way. And she couldn't help but examine him too from across the room. But with Mary's protection, and Sir Aldridge's frequent attention, she never got into a conversation with him, until, over desserts, a conversation was started about parcs and gardens.

The men who had taken grand tours discussed the French and Italian gardens they had visited. And weighed their value and beauty in an attempt to discern which garden style was superior.

Mary told a story about a garden she'd once visited in Wales, and ended her monologue with the question what Miss Hale thought of gardens, and if she had visited many.  
Margaret confessed to only having visited five gardens worthy of being praised.

'But I do love nature. In Helstone we might not have had a designed garden, they require maintenance and look quite unnatural, which is something my parents aren't very fond of, but there was nature everywhere around us. You could roam in the forest all day long, walk through meadows filled with bluebells and at the end of the day you could watch the sunset from a hill overseeing miles and miles of fields. It was a lovely sight, and I never felt the need for a large garden with buildings, water masses and hedges in it. If one has the opportunity to create a big designed garden, I see no reason why one should refrain from it, if one likes such a style. Though, I'm afraid that even when people like gardens, they are unable to in these cities. One has to move to the outskirts of town before one has the space to create such a garden, and that garden has to fit in with the environment as well. Those are the disadvantages of citylife. All by all I think Liverpool has too little nature. Sometimes there are days where I don't see anything green except for a couple of chamber plants and flower arrangements. I feel awfully detached from nature sometimes.'

'Yes, I believe this is why cities will never catch on. There is a need for big cities for commerce, social affairs and practical things like courthouses, lawyers, bookshops and the sort but man needs to be in touch with nature. I find cities all by all quite unnatural. I couldn't live without escaping to the country every couple of months. It is only normal that when given the choice, one lives in the country and rents or buys a house in town to reside in during the season or when needed. You know, I think, after months at sea for the lot of you, and months between brick buildings for us, we could use a fun getaway. I happen to be well acquainted with the Strabolgi family, living near the Scottish border. They have the most magnificent gardens in the romantic style. They could be stolen straight out of Arcadian paintings, or the paintings created by the Idyllic School. Their gardens are designed by William Kent himself. My friends, why don't I contact them so that we may visit? It's but a five hour drive away. If we wake up early, we can be back by night. Or we could make it a prolonged trip?'

The girls immediately agreed and started begging their parents and brothers to go, and the men, unwilling to let Sir Aldridge go on a trip with a flock of ladies, agreed to go as well.

And so Sir Aldridge had the ideal excuse to visit his Lady M. and the other men got a few days off to relax and try to charm the single ladies. Margaret didn't quite know whether she'd go yet. They had decided on a longer trip, which meant she had to be away from her family for two days. She didn't know whether she could do that. Her mother's health had been stable, but what if her health took a turn for the worse?

Mr. Hale decided Margaret was to join the company, though Margaret warned Sir Aldridge right before she and her family left for home that it was still possible she decided to cancel the trip.

Sir Aldridge took her hand, and promised her he understood, and then escorted her to her carriage.

'That's an awful lot of lights burning for just Dixon', noticed Margaret when they arrived home.

'She mustn't burn that many candles indeed. I can see light from behind the double curtains of the drawing room.'

The Hales entered their house.

Quick footsteps resounded on the stairs.

'Oh Mrs. Hale, Mr. Hale, Margaret. You'll never believe it! Quite the surprise. Come come.'

Margaret quickly followed Dixon upstairs.

'Apparently the mail is quite slow.'

'What on earth are you talking about Dixon?'

'He sent a letter two weeks prior to leaving, yet he got here before the letter?'

'Who?' asked Margaret.

Trepidation and excitement ran through her as her mind conjured the most logical answer as Dixon opened the drawing room door.

'Master Frederick came home at last!'


	15. Lady M

_If you were church, I'd get on my knees  
Confess my love, I'd know where to be  
My sanctuary, you're holy to me  
If you were church, I'd get on my knees  
I'd get on my knees  
_Church -Fall Out Boy

* * *

No reunion could have been happier, nor an encounter as fulfilling, as theirs had been the night Frederick Hale returned entirely unexpected.

Her mother was completely revived by the sight of her firstborn. The evening was filled with hugs, tears and laughter. Home hadn't felt so much like home in almost a decade.

Days passed in blissful joy. Their mother's health didn't bother them, Margaret's chores didn't bother her, the trouble in Liverpool didn't touch them. Nothing could take away the family's joy at her brother's presence.

On the third day, as her mother had her usual appointment with the doctor, and Mr. Hale had gone out for a lecture, Frederick and Margaret held their first private conversation in years.

Stirring their tea, they were both anxious and unwilling to discuss the heavier topics they had to broach. After years apart, they both wished all of their conversations could be joyful, unfortunately for them, they didn't have the luxury.

.

.

.

'So, mother doesn't look too bad. When you wrote to me, I got the impression that her end was near. Is it… possible, she has healed?'

'She hasn't. She can't get better. Though I must admit, this is the best I've seen her in months.'

'Maybe she's getting better? Being happy helps the recovery.'

Margaret didn't wish to be insulted by the implication that she and her father weren't capable of making their mother happy.

'I can only hope, but I fear that although your presence has given her strength and joy, that it is not a permanent change.'

'You know her best, Margaret. I trust your judgement. Though I don't like to consider what such an illness might implicate. I love our mother too much to think of her as a mortal being.'

'I don't enjoy the thought either. The last few months have been bad, Fred. I worry on a daily basis. I'm just hoping and praying each day that she might find strength and recover her health. I take as much weight off of her shoulders as possible. Dixon and I try to do the entire household on our own so that she doesn't have to worry about a thing. But it's been heavy.'

'You're doing the household? How?'

'You know, the usual.'

'No I don't. Tell me. I've been away for so long, I have no idea of how you've been living the past few years.'

'The past years don't matter, I lived with aunt Shaw like I did since before you left… But since I came home, mama's health has been frail. So I take care of the budgeting, Dixon arranges the groceries, I iron and clean and bake the cookies. Dixon cooks the food and helps to clean as well… and she also spends a lot of time taking care of mama and holding her company, and a maid takes care of the laundry and the dishes.'

'You do all of that?'

Margaret lifted her shoulders.

'That's the work of a servant and the lady of the house.'

'We cannot spare a fulltime maid, nor can we house one.'

'Margaret, how long have you been living like this? I should've been here for you.'

'It's fine.'

'It isn't, if I had only been able to swallow my morals and accept the hierarchy, I would've still been around to help. You shouldn't have to carry the combined weight of dad's crisis, mother's health and the responsibility of the household... But I couldn't. I'm so sorry.'

'You disobeyed authority- that was bad; but to have stood by, without word or act, while the authority was brutally used, would have been infinitely worse. People know what you did but not the motives that elevate it out of a crime into an heroic protection of the weak. I couldn't have loved you as much as I do if you had stood by. I understand, Frederick. I'm not happy about the price on your head, nor that I can't see you. But I accept that that's the price we're paying. It's the system, not you, who is responsible for the turn of events.'

'Yet I should try taking more care of you. I make enough money in Cadiz I –'

'No Fred, it's fine. We make do. I don't care. Besides, you're planning on extending the family so you'll be needing that money soon enough.'

'Actually… About that…'

'What?'

'I didn't quite know how to break it… So I refrained from talking about it until now. Maybe you can advise me on how to tell mother and father… I'm married to Julia.'

'When did this happen?'

'Two months ago. I didn't know how to tell you by letter. And when I got your letter informing me of mama's health I thought I might as well tell you in person. I couldn't have a wedding in England, and I doubted I could convince you to cross the channel. So I got married, with no family, which greatly saddened me. Know it was not because I didn't love you enough.'

'But isn't she a catholic?'

'So?'

'We're protestants. Has she converted?'

'No, I did.'

'You did?'

Had both her father and brother forsaken their religion? Had both her family members lost their connection to God?

'I don't see why it matters so much. In the end, we both worship the same God and we both go to church. They just have a different way of going about it. I think we humans would spare ourselves a lot of misery if we focussed on our similarities instead of our differences.'

Margaret decided to ignore her feelings and thoughts and tried to focus on the question Frederick had asked her.

'I think mother will be happy to hear of it. She worried so much for you. She was afraid that you'd be lonely and isolated as an Englishman on the Iberian peninsula. And father will be happy for you too, I believe. I don't know if there's an ideal way to break it. But I suggest you don't wait too long. It'll be harder to tell them each day you wait, and their reaction will get worse the longer you wait. There's no reason to hide a marriage, so postponing the news wouldn't be good.'

Frederick nodded.

'Perhaps, when the topic lands on your job… or if you start talking about your job… You could tell them about the brothers you work with… And from there on you can lead the topic to their sister, and mention that as your friendship with them grew, you started growing closer with their sister?'

That brought a smile to his face.

'You guessed from my letter?'

'You were speaking of her in nothing but the most praising terms. I was definitely suspicious.'

'Ha! Leave it to a woman to make the right conclusions before a man even knows his own mind. I was in the midst of falling in love with her when I wrote that letter.'

'You give me too much praise, I'm far from all knowing where emotions are concerned.'

'Whose emotions confuse you, dear sister? Is there another person you can't figure out?'

'No.' Leave it to her brother to jump at conclusions with such eagerness.

'You laugh as if the mere thought is ridiculous. Dear sister, tell me why? Is it because the English men are all ugly and dull? I won't take offence, after living in Spain, I must agree we are a boring lot. It was already quite bad in the country, I can't imagine how awful men in mercantile towns like these must be.'

'They're actually quite agreeable, though they take some getting used to. But to tell you the truth… I don't want to marry. Not with mom like this. How can I be so selfish as to look for a husband and play the part of happy available maiden when my mother is in poor health? It's poor taste.'

'Margaret, you said she might not get better. If you have the possibility to marry with both of them present, I suggest you take it.'

'But then she'll lose another child. Frederick, not a day goes by when she doesn't think of you. If I were to marry, she'd have no children left in the house. Besides, who would take over my responsibilities? Papa? They need me here.'

'Dear sister, I admire your loyalty and sacrifice. Though I wish you felt like you had a choice instead of a duty. I can't solve it for you. But I feel like putting your life on hold isn't the solution. Just lead your life and if no one comes along, then that's fine. But if there is a certain someone, just talk about it with him. Marriage is just a series of negotiations anyway. You can negotiate the terms of your marriage. You can discuss how you'll arrange your life. For example, Julia and I had a problem called Protestantism. I knew it was going to be a problem, yet I proposed before I converted and we discussed what we'd do after she'd accepted. She still lived with her parents and we discussed whether we'd live with them, live separately, or move with them. These were things we had to decide about before we married, but we discussed it together and found a solution. There might be one you're not seeing right now. You can't know how things will turn out, Margaret. Please think about that before you condemn yourself to martyrdom.'

'I'm not a martyr. I have a life. I just choose to arrange my life around mama and papa right now. For example, I'll be going to a castle with some friends, a two day trip.'

Frederick nodded, glad she allowed herself at least some days off.

'Though I'm quite unwilling to stay away for over a day, especially with how precarious mama's health is.'

'What's three days? She'll be fine. You yourself said she hasn't gotten worse lately. Go, I'm here. I'll take over for you. Have some days off Margaret. You worked so hard, you deserve it.'

.

.

.

.

.

They left at the crack of dawn, one carriage filled with overly excited girls and one filled with men.

The ride was a true delight, with Miss Latimer gone, there was not a trace of animosity between the remaining women. All conversation was innocent and devoid of mean commentary. The engaged women were teased for being engaged, and the single women were teased with the prospect of meeting rich castle owning lords and handsome stable boys.

Meanwhile, in the male carriage, business and politics were being discussed, though the occasional crude joke was made as well.

But in the end, everyone arrived and none felt too tired by the trip. So after dropping off their belongings and having a quick lunch, they took off to visit the castle, which was only a fifteen minute walk away from the village.

Miss Gallagher took the time to enjoy the walk with her fiancé, just as Miss Thornton did. Not one to leave a poor lady alone Sir Aldridge immediately joined Margaret so that she wouldn't have to walk alone.

'It appears our absence put us at a disadvantage old chap', Mr. Ball remarked as he went to walk beside Mr. Thornton, at a safe distance from the rest.

'Miss Hale is a free woman, if she prefers him now, we have failed in convincing her before.'

'Perhaps, or we didn't try hard enough.'

Mr. Thornton swallowed all of his injured pride, wounded emotions and jealousy and produced a small laugh.

'Not one to give up easily, I take it, Mr. Ball.'

'There've been many times where I could've given up in my business, or taken peace with being less. I didn't, and my company only grew and flourished because of my perseverance. Why would it be any different in the field of love? Come on, old chap, we aren't getting any younger. We have two unmarried ladies with us, let's not give up. Come on, we're fighters, are we not?'

Mr. Thornton remained silent, but his eyes didn't leave the vision in green. The same green as her eyes.

Mr. Ball's eyes wandered to Miss De Vere, admiring her figure. Though he enjoyed Margaret, he had to admit Miss Gallagher's friend was the most beautiful of the bunch. It went against his nature to give up, yet it could only be seen as a smart decision to pursue an available woman instead of trying to head down a barred path. If Miss Hale had gotten attached to Sir Aldridge, he would only waste his time pursuing her.

.

.

.

.

'Are you alright?' Margaret asked Sir Aldridge.

'Me? Never better. Though I'm saddened we couldn't bring my sister as well.'

'Can't you trust them? You've known them for years. I'm sure they would be accepting.'

'My sister is incredibly disappointed and I knew it would've delighted her to come here. I know these people, Miss Hale, and I love them dearly but it's… Hard. It's about my sister, the most precious thing in the world to me.'

Margaret nodded as she kept walking beside him.

'But I'm nervous.'

'Are you?'

'I'm seeing her again. With you all present. For some reason it makes me nervous. But I'm also excited. I'm seeing her again, I get to talk to her again. I've barely slept. Do you know that feeling when something excites and frightens you at the same time, Miss Hale?'

Margaret's cheeks grew hot, her heartbeat picked up, and the urge to look behind her was greater than ever.

She could draw him without having to look at him. A slight frown on his face as usual, eyes a piercing clear blue underneath the sunny sky, black trousers and a dark blue coat accentuating the blue of his eyes.

She paid more attention to him than ever before, yet she felt nervous and uncomfortable just thinking about talking to him.

'I believe I might, to some extent.'

'Yet it is of no use to feel nervous. Well, Miss Hale, maybe I need to talk about something else to divert my attention. What do you think about the nature?'

'I don't believe I've seen enough to make an assessment, Sir Aldridge.'

'When is the right time to make an assessment?'

'Since the women had a conversation during the ride, I couldn't observe the scenery, so thus far I've only seen the town, and now the path towards the castle. The condition of the road is good, and the woods in the distance have a nice amount of trees. The willows around the fields look clean and blooming, which does put me in a spring mood. I've already heard the cheerful tune of many birds, which delights me. I've heard as many birds in the past four months as I have this morning. It's lovely and I'm so glad to finally set my eyes on a country scene again, but I haven't been able to experience anything that feels distinct or unique, compared to other rural areas. I don't wish to insult the region, therefore I rather observe the flora for the remainder of the day before I decide if what I've seen is new and whether I like it more compared to what I've seen before.'

'You're very careful in your judgement, Miss Hale.'

'I like to think that's a good habit of mine. Early judgements are often wrong.'

Again she felt incredibly aware of the figure walking at the end of the group.

'You are a wise woman Miss Hale. I hope I will soon be able to convince you of at least the unique character of the garden. Or rather, the garden can speak for itself. This way.'

.

.

.

.

The road split, the main road went on straight ahead, but they turned to the right, a side that had been obscured by some woodland before.

A great building could already be distinguished. The trees started disappearing and a grey brick wall appeared, with behind it towers, bridges, and big structures. The exact expanse of the site couldn't be estimated. The walls were too high to get an overview.

If one had to conquer it in the Middle Ages, one was set for a daunting task. The walls looked sturdy and ominous, but there were bushes of roses around the gates, which were opened in a welcoming gesture.

Sir Aldridge announced the party when a servant came towards them. They were guided towards a bright living. The ceiling was incredibly high, as were the windows, letting in a lot of light and warmth. The furniture and art were old and tasteful, screaming old blood in a way Margaret had never experienced before.

'Sir Aldridge! How delightful. We've sorely missed your presence.'

'Lady Strabolgi! No more than I missed yours, I'm sure. You're still as beautiful and radiant as always. The new year suits you.'

'You flatter me, another year in which I shall get older.'

'Luckily for you, you age like a fine wine, it only gets better.'

'Charmer. You better introduce me to your friends whom you've written me about. It isn't polite to to have a private conversation in front of them.'

'Of course, forgive me lady, my friends.'

Sir Aldridge's smile didn't falter, but Margaret noticed he'd put his hands in his pockets to keep his hands from betraying his nerves.

'This is Lady Marianne Strabolgi, daughter of the current Lord and castle owner David William Cuthbert of Strabolgi… Now what should I tell them about you? She made two of the paintings in this room, she has a delightful singing voice and she's...'

'She's uncomfortable when confronted with so much praise', laughed she.

Everyone nodded or bowed. The blonde woman smiled and nodded back. She wasn't what Margaret had envisioned. She'd expected Venus come to life, or a dignified lady in gemstone colours and a crown. Instead she was dressed in layers of lavender and baby blue, her curls were natural and thick, jumping out of the hairclips and strings of pearls. Her face was bronzed and freckled. She must've spent each sunny day outside.

'These are my friends. There's Mr. Ball and Mr. Gallagher junior from Ball& Gallagher Company. Both fine gentlemen between their late twenties and early thirties. There, with his fiancée Miss Thornton, is Mr. Watson, and beside them stands Miss Gallagher, and her fiancé Mr. Kearney. The last man of our company is Mr. Thornton from Thornton&Co. That brings me to the two ladies on my right: the dark haired one in the green dress is Miss Hale, and the auburn haired one in blue is Miss De Vere.'

Each person presented nodded in turn.

After the presentations, a silence followed. Lady Strabolgi didn't seem as certain as she had been upon entering the room, and now looked at Sir Aldridge for a lead.

'We've already had a light midday meal before we came here. Have you?'

'Oh yes, I'm fine.'

'Might I suggest we visit the gardens then? Is there a servant available?'

'A servant?'

'For the tour?'

'Oh… Oh no, nonsense', she said and Sir Aldridge's face crumpled. 'I'm to lead you myself of course. I believe I've read and heard more about the history of the gardens than the servants. They lead groups around, for sure. But since you're my friend, I thought I would do it myself.'

'If you're sure you don't have something better to do?'

Margaret wondered if she was this awkward herself. The lady kept on offering herself as a guide and Sir Aldridge, in an attempt to be polite, was making her unsure about him wanting her to be there.

'We'd be delighted if you could', said Margaret in an unexpected instant. All eyes in the room settled on her.

'Glad at least someone appreciates the offer', Lady Strabolgi decided with a smile.

'I appreciate it too! I just wouldn't wish for you to feel compelled to do it. Nothing would delight me more!' Sir Aldridge cried at the stab.

'What are we waiting for then?' said Miss Gallagher with a smile. She tried not to look to amused, but failed to do so. She knew too much of Sir Aldridge's sentiments to not laugh at the awkwardness of it all.

* * *

**Notes:**

To my dear commenters:

leilalolalee: Thank you for your comment. It's been trying to create a believable arc, her realizing her feelings for Mr. Thornton in the book came so suddenly so it was hard getting into her head.  
sari18: Yes, she knows. Margaret was way too lonely in the book. But she wasn't really close to anyone. I've always wondered how different things would've been if she had a friend with whom she could talk. She's a private person, but things are bound to get out in the end. Thank you for your comment and continuous support!

Furthermore: Long time no see, I've been so busy with my internship, and I've been quite distracted with some other story ideas which didn't leave me alone until I'd written them at least partially. (I blame Sanditon for everything)

And now I've wound up writing about a story set in spring while it's winter. Sigh, it's weir describing the buzzing of the bees when my ears freeze off every time I step outside.

The next chapter will be up immediately after this one!


	16. A dream of spring

Music recommendations for the chapter (for explanation of the songs: see end of the chapter but it could contain spoilers)

The Promise - Michael Nyman, The Kiss - Last of the Mohicans soundtrack, Church - Fall Out Boy.

My playlist still exists on youtube: Pride and Power by BelgianBisous

* * *

Lady Strabolgi lead them through halls and corridors. The last doors she opened were those of a gilded ballroom with mirrored walls.

'We love throwing parties. And when the weather allows it, we leave these doors open so people can dance underneath the starry sky.'

She threw open the doors in front of her. The terrace was twice the size of the ballroom and overlooked the vegetable and floral gardens. Lady Strabolgi explained that despite the practicality of the orangery on a sidewall of the castle, and the fruit and vegetable garden, they'd put in trees, flowers and bushes to make them blend in with the rest of the garden. The rows of tomatoes were closed in by rows of violets, which were edible, apparently. The walled garden as a whole had a pattern not unlike a beautiful carpet or wallpaper.

* * *

Lady Strabolgi lead them down the stairs. It had been over a year since Margaret saw a garden like this. It was a blooming delight. The sun heated her face and she felt warm all over. She didn't even mind that Sir Aldridge walked in front with Lady Strabolgi and Miss Gallagher didn't leave her fiancé's side. She was happy that Mary and Mr. Kearney were getting on since the revelation in November and that Lady Strabolgi and Sir Aldridge got on after the awkward incident earlier.

She tried listening to Lady Strabolgi's stories and the questions she answered, but she didn't really care if she missed some particulars. She was happy walking through the rows of flowers and hedges. She'd taken off her gloves to touch the leaves and blossoming fruits. Even the air she breathed felt lighter and more alive than the air in Liverpool.

'And now, the part you all have been undoubtedly waiting for, the part designed by William Kent, it's located outside of the castle walls. The inside has been in a structured French style obviously. You can't have a Kent garden with borders. He's even designed the exit to resemble something more natural.'

The exit was installed upon the old castle walls. Rose bushes climbed their way up and around the roman-style arc installed against the castle wall. From two decorated stone vases, flowers bloomed and blossomed, vines tumbling down from them. It looked like a ruin which had been there for longer than the actual castle wall.

* * *

The trapdoor was already pulled up so that they could exit. In the distance, on a slope, stood a seemingly medieval folly.

'I see sheep, how aren't they getting here?'

'Oh, it's the wall.'

'Which wall, I don't see a wall', said Miss Thornton.

'Oh, it's there. You see, a ditch has been dug and a wall has been created in a way which doesn't disturb the view. Come on.'

Lady Strabolgi walked towards the woods and halted, for Margaret, who was trailing somewhat behind, at a seemingly random spot.

'Oh!' Miss Thornton gasped.

Margaret neared, and came to the surprising conclusion that the garden stopped abruptly, and that there was a slope, leading to a depth about Margarets height, from the land the sheep walked on, to the grass they were standing on.

'Genius', Mr. Ball recognized, who'd been talking to Miss De Vere since entering the gardens.

'Now, you have yet to see the best part', said Lady Strabolgi as she continued on.

'Margaret.'

Margaret jumped at the sound of her name. Miss Gallagher looked quite remorseful.

'I apologize for startling you. I shouldn't call you by your Christian name in public. Miss Hale, I've been neglecting you. I've set out to accompany you for at least the next leg of the journey.'

'Oh no, you mustn't feel the need, I'm quite content to just gaze at the garden in peace.'

'No, you're my friend. I like walking with you. I can't be too attached to mr. Kearney, it's in poor taste. Besides, you have a better eye for beauty than he, I'm sure.'

Margaret laughed but accepted Miss Gallagher's arm, as they walked on together.

'And Mr. Thornton was just approaching you. He's been looking at you all day.'

'Miss Hale?'

Margaret didn't know what to do with the information, and it startled her as well. She hadn't noticed. She had to admit that since entering the garden, she hadn't given anyone attention, she'd been too absorbed by the lovely nature and the buzzing sound of the bees.

'He has? Are you sure? Maybe he was looking at the garden?'

'Then you must always be standing next to the most interesting pieces present in the garden. I haven't really spent a lot of attention to him, but once we started heading for the wall, I saw. And just now, as I wondered where you were, I saw you standing there, gazing at the sheep, and him walking in your direction. Are you certain that the prospect of you two being together is impossible? You didn't want to talk to him right? Just so that I'm on the same page?'

'Yes. I mean no. I'm not looking for protection in a way that I'm shielded at all times. I simply don't want things to be awkward, which they'll probably be if we bump into each other. But I doubt he'll approach me. I've wounded him far too much I fear.'

Miss Gallagher seemed doubtful, but remained silent as they walked through a pathway carved in the woods. Layers of holy, laurel, fern and other greenery created a tunnel to another world, littered with remnants of old civilisations. A partially broken statue of an Olympic hero looked down on them from a slight elevation to their right, and on their left, lay a roman statue, seemingly sunken away in the earth. And then, a cement archway, turned green with age, signified the end of the path. They came out in a green oases. Birds were chirping, the glowing English country greeted them, and a river passed by. A blue dragonfly passed by their faces and they just back with a sound between a laugh and a cry.

'Everything all right, dear?'

'Oh yes, just a bug. Don't mind us', Miss Gallagher laughed.

Margaret shook her head in embarrassment, just as something caught their eye, above them, stood an arcade.

'What's that?'

'Beautiful isn't it, it's an arcade. My sisters and I always played in it when we were young.'

'Can we go to it?' asked Mr. Ball.

'Of course we can. There's a stairs somewhere, but you can also climb to it via various routes.'

'The stairs will be fine.'

'Search for them. That's part of the fun', Lady Strabolgi laughed.

* * *

Sir Aldridge sauntered towards Margaret and Miss Gallagher as Lady Strabolgi followed Mr. Ball, Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Thornton as they looked for the stairs.

'And, beautiful, right?'

'A stunning view.'

'It looks so… Natural.'

'Oh, the garden! Of course, yes, it's most enjoyable.'

'Sir Aldridge! You were talking about her?'

He laughed and turned his head away upon hearing Miss Gallagher's accusations. 'I admit it. But then she is stunning. Truly stunning.'

'She seems to like you too.'

'Not in the same way. She wouldn't.'

'Says who?'

'I'm too far beneath her.'

'Since when has a logical reason kept someone from falling in love?' Miss Gallagher asked with a laugh.

'You're already friends. That is the only reason I recognize as a problem, since telling her of your feelings could ruin your friendship. But Sir Aldridge, try observing her behaviour. Conclude how she feels from how she acts, not based on what you think is possible.'

He took off his hat and raked his hand through his hair.

'Perhaps I should. We've been friends for ages, and I've been in love with her from the start of it.'

He sighed and waved with the lapels of his coat.

'It's very hot today, isn't it?'

'Yes, I'm glad we're wearing dresses. You all have your full suits on', Margaret said, now that the conversation had again gone to a topic she was more familiar with.

'Yes, I might take an item off though', he sighed as he eyed his hat.

'Now come on ladies, we mustn't stray behind.'

They followed the sound of Miss Thornton and Mr. Watson's talking and found a worn and decorative staircase, neatly interwove with the nature of the hillside.

The arcade started at the top of the staircase. The floor was a mosaic, mimicking one from the home of a roman emperor and there were busts of the previous Lords and Ladies of the estate. The outlook from between the columns was breath taking.

'I could stay here forever', Miss Gallagher sighed.

'Me too', admitted Margaret. It was too easy to envision herself in a white dress roaming the woods for the rest of eternity. She was a sensible creature, but even she couldn't be reasonable in the face of such beauty.

Sublime.

That was the word. Sublime.

Mr. Thornton considered the exact same wording when looking at Margaret from a distance.

A gust of wind blew into the galleries.

Her green skirts ruffled around her, and her dark hair twirled around her, escaping their restraints.

His mind imagined a scenario in which he was the lord of this castle, looking for his wife and finding her here as she stared at the sunset. He could easily imagine himself walking up towards her, and taking her in his arms to watch it together.

It suited her, being between history and nature. And she seemed to feel at home too. Despite her upturned chin and habitually proud air, she'd sported a soft smile ever since setting foot in the garden. Her smile widened whenever she touched a flower petal, or let her hands hover over a bush. And she even laughed openly, showing off her beautiful teeth, when she'd jumped away from that bug.

At ease.

Those were the words. She seemed at ease here, while she'd always been guarded and solemn in Liverpool. It had gotten better in time, but she'd never been as relaxed as she was here.

The Lady walked towards her and Miss Gallagher, and started talking to them. The ladies entered a conversation and walked away towards the end of the arcade.

* * *

'Not missing your ships, old chap?'

'Starting too. So much green and not a drop of blue water near.'

'However shall we get through the next day?'

'I wonder', Mr. Thornton laughed.

'Maybe I'll build a paper boat and attempt an escape.'

'Ha! I'd watch that. Now come on, we can't leave our women to fend for themselves, especially with what's next on our path.'

Mr. Thornton watched as the figures in lavender, green and white grow smaller, though their voices resounded in the gallery.

'What is next?'

'Ah, the ultimate entertainment for us. I've come here so many times, at night, during daytime, it's always been a treat for the guests. It's something they love to decorate as well, depending on the occasion.'

'Come now, we'll be there in five minutes. Just tell me what it is.'

'A maze. I think we'll have the ordinary experience today, but they've sometimes put up acts in certain corners, and musicians.'

The men exited the arcade and followed the company towards an ten foot high maze. Parts of the maze were carved out to fit statues and bushes and flower bushes, but the most amazing thing was the piece of architecture within the maze. An Italian lookout tower was visible, peeking out over the rows of hedges. It gleamed a soft white in the afternoon sun.

'Can everyone gather?' asked Lady Strabolgi as she distanced herself from the group.

'It doesn't really blend in with our current garden but as it is hidden between the trees, and it took decades to grow to the height it is now, we keep it around. After all, it's still a lovely thing to have and make use of during parties. Our guests simply adore it. So, this is our maze, and within it, I've hidden a personal object of mine and your quest shall be to find it. Now, you see three entryways on this side, underneath the flower arches. There are five more on the left and the right, and even an additional four at the back. Everyone can enter through a separate entryway. It is possible that, after entering, you might encounter other players depending on the turns you take. If you've found my object, don't tell them. Once you've retrieved it, you need to find your way out and return to me as quickly as possible, then I shall give a signal with my pistol so everyone can know and get out.'

'Have you brought a pistol?'

Lady Strabolgi smiled and lifted her hand. Around her wrist hung a moderately sized purse. Sir Aldridge's eyebrows lifted in surprise. 'You've been carrying that around the entire time?'

'Oh yes, of course. I would be an irresponsible host to not think ahead. Besides, what if a wild fox came for us in the woods?'

Sir Aldridge laughed and shook his head.

'Oh, I forget to ask, but Sir Aldridge, would you mind keeping me company? You know the maze too well. So the game wouldn't be as much fun for you, and should anyone get stuck or panic, you might retrieve them. But otherwise, I'll be on my own, waiting until someone gets out.

'Milady, I am entirely at your service.'

'Lovely.'

'So, my new friends, find your entrance. Your quest begins now.'

* * *

The group split apart amid jokes and laughter. The couples and siblings bidding each other a dramatic goodbye and a half-hearted wish for good luck.

Margaret bid Miss Gallagher goodbye, and entered the maze. The maze absorbed all the sounds and she was suddenly engulfed in a muted environment. She could distantly hear laughter and voices, but she could no longer clearly hear them or distinguish where they came from.

The hedges were impossibly thick, there was no way to look through them.

Luckily, there were still some bees and butterflies, otherwise the contrast between the lively environment on the outside of the maze and the inside would've been too jarring.

The game didn't really matter to her, so she just set about walking, giving no real thought to which turn she took.

She discovered vases with stone flowers, vases with actual flowers, rose bushes, berry bushes and lovely sculptures along the way. It was enough for her.

She was happy to just roam and lose herself to nature and thought. She pondered over everything, her brother and mother at home, Sir Aldridge and Lady Strabolgi who were now alone together, and finally, Mr. Thornton and his alleged staring.

It wouldn't have surprised her had Mr. Thornton decided to move on. She had fully expected it, despite his claim to _"love, and will love."_

After all, she'd made it clear that she wouldn't marry. And since discovering her feelings, she hadn't even been able to be friendly, despite parting on friendly terms before he left.

Eying the split in her path, giving her the option to continue or turn left, she decided to gaze into the path to her left before deciding.

It was a small path, which didn't continue for long. But around the bend, she could discern a large column and the top of a building over that hedge. Was it the tall structure she'd seen from the outside?

She felt compelled to turn left and follow that path. With almost childlike excitement she ran through the corridor and followed the twist. To her shock and amazement, it wasn't the structure she'd seen from outside. It was a small temple on an elevation, with three columns on each side and three steps of stairs leading up to it. In each column a statue was put, holding up the Corinthian capitals. Vines of rose bushes were climbing up the columns. She was starting to think the maze, despite not being Kent's style, had suffered through Kent's decorative attempts. But by now, she knew the roses didn't accidentally grew on the statues and buildings, but had been intentionally planted for an "ancient" effect.

She neared the temple._ Muses_, Margaret discovered upon looking at the objects the statues held in their hands.

The back of the temple didn't have any muses, but had Aphrodite and Hephaestus, between them was a column of flames, with doves, roses, swans and myrtle rising out of the flames, as if Hephaestus had crafted them for his wife.

The sound of pebbles jumping away from under a pair of shoes with hard soles, pulled Margaret's attention away from the temple.

It was Mr. Thornton, who seemed just as surprised to find another person.

'Miss Hale.'

He wasn't wearing his overcoat or his coat. It was the first time she'd seen him without so much dark clothing. He'd always been an imposing figure, and Margaret had partially put it down to his preference for boxy silhouettes and the sturdy shoulders of his suits. But his shoulders were just as broad now that he only had his white shirt and dark blue vest on.

_'They're attractive to you. And sometimes you're ashamed to admit it. You look for them in crowds, you think of them in ways you shouldn't. You still know there are handsomer men on a technical level, and you want to admit that they aren't on the same level. But in your heart of hearts, you can't help but feel a certain way about their looks… Even when the looks of handsome men leave you cold.'_

'Mr. Thornton.'  
She bowed her head, in a polite gesture, which also gave her the possibility to hide the emotions seeing him in such a state brought forth. She knew that for him, nothing between them had changed, so she would greet him the way she was supposed to. She wouldn't be impolite.

'Any luck finding the item?' he asked.

'I'm not really looking, but I haven't seen it yet, no.'

'Me neither.'

'You aren't looking, or you haven't found it?'

Mr. Thornton huffed a laugh as he neared the structure as well.

'I've done my bit of looking, but I've been unsuccessful so far.'

Margaret nodded and turned towards the temple again, as she felt her cheeks grew hot as he kept talking to her.

It was probably just the spring heat finally getting to her instead of Mr. Thornton.

He seemed to suffer underneath the ministrations of the sun as well, since he'd already taken off his hat and two pieces of clothing.

The silence was too heavy, and, feeling self-conscious and awkward, Margaret felt the need to break it.

'It's beautiful, isn't it?' she asked as she touched a pillar.

'It is.'

'Have you encountered other structures so far?'

'A couple of statues and vases, and one very elaborate birth bath. Have you?'

'Statues and vases… If we find it here, who will take it?'

'I have no need for glory, personally.'

'Neither do I', Margaret smiled as she brought her face close to a white rose.

'How about the following proposition. A deal, if you will, if we find it here, we shall bring it to Lady Strabolgi together.'

'I think I can be perfectly comfortable with that arrangement.' The silence was back again. And this time, Mr. Thornton feared that it was his fault. He finally had Margaret all to himself, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't use the opportunity to the fullest.

'Are they… meaning something? I recognise the one in the back… It's clearly Venus… But the others…'

His voice was muted, gentle almost.

Mr. Thornton felt uncomfortable in his lack of knowledge on intellectual topics, it was why he went to her father for classes.

He was trying to be open, despite everything.

'It is Venus, or well, not really… Not really. It's a Grecian temple, you see. So it would be – '

'Aphrodite.'

'Yes.'

Now she had to look at him to encourage him. It would be cruel to do otherwise.

She turned around, and was startled by how close he'd come.

His eyes were so blue. They'd never been done justice in the candlelit rooms of Liverpool, now, underneath the bright light of the spring sun, she could notice they were as clear and bright as fresh water from the clearest waterfall, and as blue as the sky right before sunset on a lovely summer day.

'And then, next to it, when applying deduction, is…'

'Hephaestus', he breathed as he stepped past her towards the two statues.

She left him to his own thoughts as she examined the muses. There was clio, the muse of history, Calliope with her tablet with poetry on it, Terpsichore with a harp in her left arm and her right arm in a ballet pose, and then there was Erato with…

'Oh… It's…'

'Miss Hale? What is… Oh.'

There, around the white neck of the muse of love, hung a white scarf. Only a gust of wind betrayed that it wasn't a part of the realistically sculpted drapery on the statue itself.

She moved towards it, but couldn't touch it.

She hadn't lied when she'd said that she didn't care for the price, but being so close to it, she felt the childish urge to retrieve it.

Forgetting herself and her surroundings, she reached out, finding herself too short. However, the pillar the muse was hewn out of, had plenty of room to place her feet, and it was low enough for her to step onto, but high enough for her to be able to reach for the neck of the muse.

'Miss Hale?'

'Well, we need to retrieve it, right? I believe even you can't reach for it.'

'No indeed, I can't.'

She gently grasped the waist of the muse, and carefully placed her foot on the pedestal to test the sturdity of the structure.

Deciding it was safe, she pushed herself off the floor with her remaining foot. Now on the structure, she slowly reached upwards, until both her hands were around the neck of Erato.

'Miss Hale, please be careful.'

She could hear he was close, but she focussed on her task. She wouldn't let herself get distracted while standing on such a narrow surface.

She felt for the knot at the back of the sculpture's neck and, after finding out how it was knotted, gave it a tug.

But, miscalculating how tight the knot was, she found herself stumbling backwards when the knot gave immediately.

'Margaret!'

As her feet slipped away, she experienced a brief moment of weightlessness. Her eyes shut as she anticipated the hard marble floor, but instead she collided way sooner with something not nearly hard enough. Her back and the back of her legs hit two strong objects. As she opened her eyes in shock, she found herself in Mr. Thornton's arms. She found herself growing restless and uneasy under his intense gaze, yet, this time, she was unable to break eye contact.

_'One needn't be handsome to be attractive, Margaret love. But you don't understand that yet, I can see the confusion in your eyes. You talk of love as if it is a chore one has to do, dear girl, but the thing is… Loving isn't a thing you can do, it just happens. Your mind and body will know before you are even aware of it, despite their character and despite their looks. You might even find yourself disagreeing with who you have decided to fall in love with.'_

Her heartbeat was going at an unknown pace, and as it picked up in speed, it became so loud she could hear it resonating in her ears.

She didn't understand the two forces fighting within her, one wanting to revel in the light of his attention, and the other wanting to shy away from it.

It was the attraction her mother had tried telling her about.

Neither of them knew what caused it; a blink, a gust of wind, a sound, but the moment passed, and both grew conscious of the impropriety of their situation and the amount of time which had passed.

Mr. Thornton gently put her down, and Margaret gave an awkward cough to break the silence.

'We should… Find the exit.'

'Yes! Yes indeed. Do you remember the path you've taken? I think I can remember mine.'

'I can, I always turned right, I've once read that that's the guaranteed way to get out of a maze.'

'Oh, is it?'

'Apparently. It lead me to the place of the object, at least.'

'It did.'

But so did Margaret's random choosing of the paths.

They stood there, looking anywhere but the other.

'Perhaps, you could lead the way then?'

'Y-yes of course', Mr. Thornton decided and walked towards the way he came from.

Margaret followed, trailing a bit behind, but just as she walked into the lane he came from, she noticed something dark on the floor of the temple.

'Mr. Thornton, your coat.'

He turned to look over his shoulders, only now realizing he was neither wearing nor carrying his hat or clothing pieces.

He'd forgotten about them once Margaret fell, and had been so absorbed by his feelings since, that he hadn't thought of them again. They both made way for the temple, and then both stopped once they noticed the other moving.

'Um-'

'They're mine, I'll get them.'

Margaret turned her face away from him, hiding her burning cheeks once more.

What was the matter with her?

She couldn't even control her face or feelings around him anymore. She'd never been so self-conscious before, nor had she ever struggled so much to find the words to say. Everything she said or did around him felt wrong and weird.

Mr. Thornton arrived at the temple and bent down.

There, with his loose billowing sleeves and his tight pants he looked like something of a hero from a romantic novel. Out of his trusty dark rooms, cloudy seaside town and out of his business clothes, he seemed more human and yet more than human all the same.

His hips sure were narrow compared to his amazingly broad shoulders. She'd never noticed before, since his coat always covered most of him. He was no classical Greek sculpture, and if his usual clothes had hidden so much of his physique, he could still look quite different when divested of all – no, no Margaret Hale, don't think of that!

But a sculpture from the Hellenistic period, yes, that could fit his physique. Like Lysippos' Hercules. She blushed at the recollection of the statue from an art book. Thinking of that particular piece of art wasn't helping her at all.

'Miss Hale?'

She blinked and found Mr. Thornton had gotten closer to her again, and seemed to be waiting for a response.

'Yes?'

'I asked how your mother was?'

'Oh.'

She started walking again.

'She's… Well. I believe.'

Mr. Thornton took the lead again.

'She's been very well the last few days. My… Father hopes she's getting better. But the doctor told me that was quite impossible, and I tend to believe the doctor. I'm happy that she's had a few good days, but I'm not as optimistic.'

She'd almost betrayed her secret. She should be more on guard. Stop being so fanciful, Margaret, your silence is a matter of life and death.

'I hope your mother will stay with us for a long while yet.'

'So do I… Your mother is well, I hope?'

'She is. Very. She's got a sturdy disposition.' His lips lifted upwards, until he became aware of how they could be misinterpreted.

'Not that yours is –'

'Mr. Thornton, it is quite alright really. No offense taken, my mother never was a beacon of health, whenever someone got ill, she was the first to pick it up as well. She's always been prone to ailments… But up until now, they were just that… Things which could be fixed with time and medicine.'

She glanced at Mr. Thornton from the corner of her eye, and he wore the most sombre look. What was he thinking about?

_'Margaret, you said she might not get better. If you have the possibility to marry with both of them present, I suggest you take it.'_

Perhaps, she should reconsider. Would it be that bad?

Perhaps it wouldn't.

And perhaps it would be nice, to be together with someone who could support her and who she could support in turn through the trials and tribulations life had in store.

But, she was only in love. It took more than being in love to be man and wife.

Could she work together with him?

Could they agree?

Were their tempers matched?

Could she approve of his position, and live with herself as his wife?

These were the big questions she didn't know the answer to.

But did Mary know the answer to those questions before she became engaged? Did Edward?

But their love had always been so different from hers. Hers felt more like an awful agony. She was never excited to see him, the thought to interact with him made her so nervous she felt physically unwell. Their conversation was civil and awkward at best. They were so incredibly different.

Yet there had been those times, where she felt she understood him, and admired him, and felt listened to by him, and were these not essential things to a marriage?

Thoughts and doubts made her a poor conversationalist for the remainder of their walk, and if Mr. Thornton was aware of her distractedness, he made no mention of it.

They broke out of the maze on the front side.

Lady Strabolgi and Sir Aldridge were sitting on a bench nearby, immersed in conversation.

Margaret felt sorry to interrupt them, and was hesitant to call out to them. But Lady Strabolgi noticed them, and jumped upright.

'Have you retrieved it, or given up?'

Sir Aldridge jumped up, his brow clouded with worry, when seeing who accompanied his dear new friend.

'We've retrieved it I believe. Is this yours?' Margaret asked as she presented the scarf.

'It is! Great job, which one of you found it?'

'It was a combined effort', Margaret admitted, smiling at Mr. Thornton. He nodded back.

'Well, congratulations to you both, finding another person and the scarf in that maze. It's a pretty temple, is it not?'

'It is', they admitted simultaneously.

'I shall inform the others', Lady Strabolgi said as she retrieved her gun and stepped away from them.

They looked at each other one last time, before a shot chased away all the natural sounds, and elicited a number of cries from the maze. Sir Aldridge approached them, and they were absorbed in a conversation. Gone was their moment.

And no other occasion would present itself for the remainder of the day, for Margaret never came near him again in a way that they could have a private conversation.

Sir Aldridge excused himself as everyone, after tea, prepared to return to the inn. There was 'some business' he had to arrange before he could return.

A business which, Margaret discovered that night upon his return, was an engagement between him and Lady Strabolgi.

He was overjoyed, and could talk of nothing else. He wished to celebrate, but didn't dare tell anyone but Margaret and Mary.

'I'm too happy, and way too lucky. Tomorrow she'll wake up and realize what a mistake she's made. I won't take offence, nothing can change the happiness she's brought me. Oh, if today were my last day on earth, I'd die in peace. I didn't know I could be this happy, and I've had a perfectly great life up until now. Oh, to love and be loved in turn, there's no greater joy on this earth. She's too good. Too perfect, too divine.'

The next day, when they explored the surrounding countryside, Lady Strabolgi had still not changed her mind.

* * *

Mr. Thornton, who had supressed his hopes and dreams after the events of the previous day because of the bond between Margaret and Sir Aldridge, was shocked to hear of the news of the engagement, as was Mr. Ball, though he had been most occupied with Miss De Vere.

But – if there was nothing between them, that meant Margaret was still as available as she had been months ago.

So the only thing still standing between them was not another man, but her mother's health, and Margaret's feelings.

He didn't dare guess Margaret's feelings, as Margaret she was to him, dear and precious, and he knew that she could not feel so right in his arms if God hadn't intended it that way. Yet, he had to admit that there had been something in the air the previous day, and something in her behaviour, which had been warmer than before, right before she became distracted as they exited the maze. But perhaps, he should try again, and better himself.

Her mother's health couldn't be helped. But if she worried for her family, he was certain they could find a solution together.

She wanted to be with them and there was plenty of room for them in his house.

There wasn't a thing he wasn't willing to do, if it could bring her to her natural home in his arms.

Yes.

He would better his ways, and become a man worthy of her love, and she would see, yes, she would see, that they were meant to be.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

**Notes:**

Songs for this chapter:

*The Promise - Michael Nyman: Mr. Thornton looking at Margaret in the arcade.

*The Kiss - Last of the Mohicans soundtrack: the maze game and the retrieval of the scarf.

*Church - Fall Out Boy: Mr. Thornton's feelings for Margaret at the end.

And now the short history lesson of the day: The title of Lord/Earl/Baron of Strabolgi was officially called out of abeyance in 1916 but it has always had a disputed reputation since both the name was spelled differently (Strathbogie) and the title preceding the name varied. It seemed an ideal candidate for a noble family in a Jane Austen work since it could have existed at the time, but it isn't an important name so there are no politics tied to it. Up until now I've simply used the characters from North& South and used a select couple of historical characters and I once referenced a character from another piece of fiction. I dislike making up "big names" Miss De Vere and Mary Gallagher are fine because they're just minor people with not too much money or influence. But creating a fictional lordship isn't a cool thing to do imo because there are actual lords in the time living in the exact same region. The historian in me is a bit annoyed then.


	17. Loss

**If you must wait,  
Wait for them here in my arms as I shake  
If you must weep,  
Do it right here in my bed as I sleep  
If you must mourn, my love  
Mourn with the moon and the stars up above  
If you must mourn,  
Don't do it alone**

**Keaton Henson - You**

* * *

It was a small funeral.

Mr. Thornton had slipped in at the last second, taking place at the last row. Margaret was absent from the funeral, which was an odd custom of women of the upper classes and gentry, leading to the already small number of mourners to be reduced even more. Mrs. Hale had few acquaintances in Liverpool, though some of Mr. Hale's pupils and friends had come to show their respects.

Time had run out sooner rather than later for the ailing woman.

It was a sober ceremony in an almost completely empty church. The flowers placed on top of the coffin were the flowers Margaret had brought home just two days earlier: bright pinks and reds she had been sure her mother would love, but she had arrived home too late.

Margaret had blossomed during his absence, he had realized during their time spent together during the short trip. Her bangs had been growing out, her skin was clearer, her nails were longer and less brittle, and she had even acquired some freckles from days spent in the sun.

But it appeared their carriage had left spring and hope behind, and driven them straight back into the dark cold winter.

It wasn't how it was meant to be. She had been one of the first people to have been dropped off at her home, and he one of the first people to be dropped off at his. A ring he had bought but had never gotten to present to her during their first proposal still lay waiting in his desk. She had haunted his dreams during his entire trip overseas. He had been hopeful at sea because, even knowing she wouldn't marry because of her parents, he thought there was a small possibility of finding a solution. This belief had only grown during the trip. She'd still been his Margaret, beautiful and subdued yet a match for his temper. Her smile and warmth had encouraged not only his affections but his belief that all might not be lost after all. He had grabbed the box and left, before doubt could master his bravery. He had been determined to talk it over with her, hoping that if they found a solution to her situation, she might consider marriage.

He had tried to keep supress his hope, yet he had walked to the Hale House smiling. The odds were not by any means favourable but he was determined.

However, all determination and hope crumbled when he was refused entrance to the house by their faithful servant.

_"__The family are not receiving guests, as they are in mourning."_

_"__In mourning? May I enquire who has died?"_

In the distance he could hear a male voice saying 'But You must see it would be a most welcome change! You could both use some sun and good company. All together.' It was not Mr. Hale's voice. And he wondered why an exception was to be made for the man who was apparently present, and why he would talk about moving. However Dixon continued, pretending she didn't hear the voice.

_"__Mrs. Hale. She died the day before yesterday to an ailment from which she had been suffering for a while. The family will not be receiving guests until further notice, they need time."_

The service ended, and the casket was brought outside. John greeted Mr. Bell, who had come down from Oxford.

'Mr. Bell, you have come down for the funeral?'

'Ah, Mr. Thornton, it saddens me that I have to meet you under such dreary circumstances. Most horrible! I had come to spend some time with my friend for old time's sake, but I could not have planned my visited at a worse time if I tried. Poor Hale, poor Margaret, poor… all of them! My dear friend has suffered a lot, this past year has not been kind to him.'

John did not know what to answer. He did not doubt that the Hales had left Helstone with regret since they still talked of it with a lot of fondness, nor did he doubt that the adjustment to Liverpool had been difficult, and especially the blow of Mrs. Hale's illness and subsequent death was not an easy one. But he could not agree, the past year had brought him the woman he loved most, and a new friend.

'I have promised Mr. Hale to stay a while, and I hope in a couple of weeks, I can tempt him to travel back to Oxford with me. A reunion with his old friends shall do him good, I dare say.'

Had it been Mr. Bell's voice he'd heard while Dixon had refused him entrance? It was possible that Mr. Bell would have been allowed to remain if he'd arrived before Mrs. Hale's death.

'And Miss Hale is to join this trip as well?'

'Miss Hale? No, no Margaret shall stay of course. Her friends are here. She's a strong one, and resilient. Perhaps it could even do her some good to focus on herself instead of her papa. You are close to the Hale's as well. You know, without a doubt, how the dear girl always puts her parents first. So dutiful. The poor girl feels so awful about having been absent.'

Then who had been talking when he arrived at the Hale residence? And about what?

'I know', John simply agreed.

His Margaret, all alone in her house, not having been there for her mother in her hour of need and now unable to say goodbye for the final time. She would have seen her mother already prepared for burial when she entered her home, and had probably been forced to sit vigil for two days straight. She probably didn't even have any energy left to attend the funeral. He refused to imagine leaving his mother with a kiss to her warm cheek, and returning to her cold lifeless body without being able to tell her he loved her a last time.

He could still remember the last time he'd seen Margaret before entering the carriage to ride home, smiling as she plucked a last cornflower before being pushed inside the carriage by Miss Gallagher. Had he proposed on the trip he could have been there for her, to be her confidant and caretaker in this time of despair!

But now she was all alone in her mourning, and it would take at least half a year before he could even dare to consider proposing again.

Once again, fate had intervened in the most awful way possible.

He focussed on his work. He was in no mood for parties or amusement. He occasionally visited Mr. Hale but that was it, and during those occasions, he did not see Margaret, she had become a ghost in her own home.

His mother worried for him, since he had not been the same since he'd come back from the trip. He had always been serious and collected, but now he had become cold and aggressive, lashing out at her when she asked questions about the company.

The first half of last year had been successful, causing him to have invested in his company a lot. But as May was approaching, he was still trying to recover from the losses the winter season had caused. He needed to do well, and do well _fast_. When the company was still lagging at the beginning of the year, he hadn't worried too much, certain that they would have recovered their losses by summer. But summer was only weeks removed now.

He didn't have a lot of money left for a new expedition. But to make money without a new expedition would be very hard. He would have to sell almost everything in his warehouse if he wanted to gather enough money to pay his employees without a new expedition.

It worried him, and as the weeks progressed, Mrs. Hale worried for her son. Fanny's wedding was fast approaching, which would set them back even more. There was nothing to be done about the current proceedings though, the wedding would be elaborate, and Thornton could only watch with sorrowful eyes as their savings dwindled.

It was on such a day, when he had signed another two checks for Fanny's wedding, Mr. Bell knocked on the door of his office with the question to regularly check in with Margaret as Mr. Bell and Mr. Hale left on their trip for Oxford.

It was a small comfort he would get to see Margaret again, even now his life was such a mess.

And so he visited her, an hour every three days since he did not wish to push his luck. Most of the progress she'd made during his absence, had disappeared again. The freckles on her face had faded as she had locked herself away in her house, and her eyes had lost all the sparkle they had gained. But she was Margaret and he loved seeing her, even though his heart broke at the sight of her. He tried his best to make her smile, or make her forget the past if only for a little while, and every time he visited, he seemed to come closer to this goal.

With each visit, he drew her out of her shell more and more, as she grew accustomed to company again.

It was on his fourth and last visit he managed to achieve his goal for the first time, by announcing himself as her stalker and guard coming in to check on her. However, as she got up to shake his hand, her eye fell on a figure visible throughout the window.

It was Mr. Bell, and he was alone.

* * *

Thank you leilalolalee, mariantoinette1 and anon for your kind comments!

It's a short chapter since it's exam season again, but I found a shorter more to-the-point approach the better way to represent the grief. We're not meant to look too much into Margaret's and John's heads. From the next chapter on the story will start diverting a lot! I'm excited but nervous to introduce my twist but I hope all my dear readers will like it.

Happy 2020 by the way! (she says as she just orphaned Margaret)


	18. Lost

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I want you to stay  
I want you to stay, even though you don't want me  
Girl, why can't you wait?  
Girl, why can't you wait 'til I fall out of love?

_\- The Weekend: Call Out My Name_

_._

_._

_._

In two homes on opposing sides of the city, one street filled with lower middle class families, and one with the upper crust of Liverpudlian entrepreneurs, two cups of tea grew cold.

The two owners of the cups had only had half an appetite for them when they received them, but looking over all their paperwork, even that half had gone.

Bills and orders were scattered over Mr. Thornton's desk. On the floor, next to the overly full bin, were balls of paper filled with an endless amount of calculations on how the year could go financially. Worst case scenario's, probable scenario's, and good scenario's. But the latter two categories, were both quite unlikely.

In the Hale house, Margaret was burried in letters and to-do lists. Hard choices had to be made regarding the furniture, her parents' personal belongings and her own. She'd put off making decisions when her mother died, but now the work was twofold, with the added problem of where she was to live, though that question had been temporarily answered by the Gallagher family. She had not been eager to accept their charity, but since she had no means of income she could no longer keep the house. And with all her loved ones abroad, she had no one left in the country to count on, except her godfather Mr. Bell, who had only left today to manage some affairs in Oxford but had supported her through her first week of mourning and had helped her keep vigil. He'd promised her he would soon return. She didn't have the courage or power to fight anymore. She had informed her aunt and her brother of her father's passing, since they had forced Frederick to leave the second Mrs. Hale had died. She did not know how they would respond to the news, or how anything could be done about the fact that she was now in fact an orphan with barely any money to her name. She was all alone.

A knock on the door announced that Mary had come once again to fetch her. Margaret threw a last look at the table full of things yet to be arranged tomorrow, and wordlessly left.

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'Oh, mama it was all so dreadful', Fanny sighed as she dramatically plopped down on her chair for dinner. Her wedding was but two weeks removed now.

John threw his sister a dark look, she knew not the meaning of dreadful, but their mother had begged him not to burden her with awful memories of their time spent in poverty or their current finances.

'What is it now, child?' Mrs. Thornton huffed as she rather spent dinner in silence.

'Me and Mary are both to be married this season, and quite soon, but we were not allowed any joy or excitement. All the young ladies were gathered and I swear, everyone must be quite excited for our weddings, but since Miss Hale was there everyone acted like it were their parents who had died instead of only hers.'

'Miss Hale was there?'

'Yes of course, she's almost always there. The Gallaghers have taken her in. She only goes to her house during the day to arrange her family's affairs, otherwise she'd be home alone all day and since she and Miss Gallagher are so close, she of course didn't allow that. I think you're bound to get a letter from her attorney… some Mr. Lennox and Mr. Bell to announce that the house will be vacated soon.'

Of course! He hardly could have expected a young unmarried woman to live on her own. Yet he had not given it any thought, his mind had been too absorbed by his own affairs.

'This cannot be a permanent arrangement?' asked John.

His mother was eying him sharply, fearful that the thought of Miss Hale leaving would cause him to do something rash like asking for her hand again.

'No, apparently she's waiting for a responsive from her relatives for a more permanent solution, but they're all abroad. She didn't talk at all when I was there, just said yes and no when the maid asked if she wanted more tea. But just as I left the mailman delivered a letter and it apparently said that the husband of her cousin received an additional six month stay in Corfu. However it isn't at all unlikely that unless some miracle happens, Miss Hale is to go live with them. So I have no clue as to what shall happen but the chances are very slim that Miss Hale shall remain with us for much longer.'

Every muscle in John Thornton's body froze. The sound of Mrs. Thornton's knife and fork cutting her food and Fanny's chattering became unbearably loud, but he could no longer focus. The room grew cold and life turned unbearably bleak. Not even the dozens of calculations he had made that day could have depressed him as much as the idea of Miss Hale leaving.

_"__Poor girl, Thornton, poor girl. She has suffered more than enough. This past year has brought her nothing but misery."_

He could still hear Mr. Bell saying at Mr. Hale's funeral.

Nothing but misery, that was how she would without a doubt look back on his happiest year of life! The year in which he had gotten to know Margaret and fall irrevocably in love had been the year in which she had become an orphan and lost all her previous friends and acquaintances.

No more Margaret at balls, no longer a woman whose eyes had haunted him for months and whose conversation challenged him at every turn. She would be forever lost to him and he was not in a position to do anything about it! Was there no friend who could get her to stay in some miraculous way? Miss Gallagher, Sir Aldridge, Miss De Vere, could no one do anything?

No. He knew very well they could do nothing, they were but friends, and an unmarried young woman was forced to be with relatives if she was to keep any reputation or status, and she was a gentlewoman. She could have as much friends as she liked in Liverpool, without her parents she was isolated. Mr. Hale would have managed without his wife or daughter. Men had a public life and were capable of having meaningful connections through profession and interest. Friends could live together or rent chambers, if a woman did so her status would severely suffer. For gentlewomen there were no opportunities to have an independent living, at least not unless one was a wealthy heiress, which Margaret wasn't.

Miss Hale was as isolated and helpless as he himself. He was facing the downfall of his company and bankruptcy on his own, because of his competitive pride and philosophy of self-help allowing no alternatives. He felt like he could not ask others for help, yet he had not the means to help himself. Neither could Margaret do anything about her own situation, she was to suffer, on her own, through the hand fate dealt her.

How he wished he could speak to her! But she lived in seclusion because of her mourning period, and she would in all likelihood leave Liverpool before she got out of it. He knew he could not offer her any support, nor could he fix her problems, but to just look and talk to her, to set his eyes on her tranquil face, to hear her stern resigned but hopeful talk. He would give anything to just talk to her.

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'Well Margaret, I heard you received another letter today?'

The dark haired girl sat near the window of the drawing room, letter still in hand. She had grown awfully pale and wan, her dark dresses making her look even more ghost-like.

'Margaret?'

The girl slowly turned towards her friend, raising her eyebrows in surprise, as if she had only now become aware again of the presence of her friend.

'Who was the letter from?'

'Oh.' Margaret gazed at the letter as if she saw it for the first time, but in fact she had read it fifteen times since first opening it. She had been completely absorbed by it, and had been contemplating its contents until her friend entered the room.

'Margaret?'

Margaret looked up again.

'My… You know… My brother.'

'Oh! And what did he say?'

Mary took place on the ground, leaning on the knee of her friend in sympathy. She deeply worried for the girl. Just a month ago, she had wished for her friend to find happiness in matrimony, but now she could only pray that Margaret found a living arrangement. It broke her heart that she would be separated from a friend she had grown so close to the past couple of months. She had naturally started depending on Margaret's calm temperate character and reliable advice, but her friend would probably be unable to stay in the country for much longer. She almost felt tempted to postpone the wedding, she was in no mood to marry when her friend was suffering so. She had been engaged to Mr. Kearney for about eight months, she could easily wait some more.

'He asked me to come live with him and his wife in Cádiz.'

'You would get to see your brother again. Make up for lost time! Would you like that?' she asked with a smile in an attempt to cheer her friend. Spain was a long way from England, but it was not as far as Corfu. Though she doubted she and Mr. Kearney would be able to make the journey a lot, it would at least mean their letters wouldn't take as long to go.

'I love my aunt, and I do miss Edith, but there I would again be a burden to them, and I don't think I would enjoy going back to walking around in a pretty dress while making any conversation. I don't know what life in Cádiz could be, but at least there'd be one person I could talk honestly with, and who would be accepting of my mourning.'

'Are there any people speaking English?'

'A couple at least I think, traders mostly, and those in business with my brother. I don't know. I'll have to learn Spanish probably.'

Mary didn't want to ask how she was ever going to find a husband there. With her aunt it would be easy, another bachelor from the same regiment as her cousin's husband for example. But Margaret had only just been dealt the most awful blows possible at an incredibly young age. It wouldn't be fair to bother her about marriage. Besides, it was not as if it was entirely impossible to marry someone from another country. Right now the most important thing was that Margaret was comforted, got a home, and got time to process everything.

The friends remained together until dinner, after which they took their leave of each other and retired to their bedchambers.

The following days, Margaret tried to asses the situation as soberly as she could. She was now freed of her life as a caretaker. She'd lost all she'd taken care of: Bessy, her mother, her father. Now nothing bound her to Liverpool anymore, except her friends but those couldn't offer a solution to the current situation she found herself into.

Yet she had a choice: go to her aunt and cousin and return to a life of enforced idleness or travel to her brother in Cádiz. Both involved leaving her country of birth, the place she'd grown up in. First she'd been uprooted from Helstone not once, but twice, and now she was to leave England and all its customs, traditions and people behind. Once again, her future was uncertain. Who needed her most? Did either her aunt or brother really need her? It had all still been clear who to follow and what to do as long as her parents were alive, but now the decision appeared to lie with her: with whom did she want to spend her years? Where did she see herself belonging? Which option could bring her towards a future she could envision herself living? It was very odd to make a decision for her own benefit, it was entirely unnatural to Margaret to focus on herself, so used was she to pushing herself aside.

Mr. Bell returned a week later, with an insight he thought would be new to Margaret. He approached his godchild with the question whether she would like visiting her brother, if only temporarily, and announced he himself had always been interested in the history of Cádiz. Margaret, in turn, surprised him by announcing she had just been writing a letter to her brother saying that she would like moving in with him.

Preparations were made for Mr. Bell and Margaret to travel to Spain.

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A last evening was held for Margaret's closest friends to say goodbye. Sir Aldridge, Lady Elisabeth and Miss De Vere visited the Gallagher House and took their leave of their friend, who said little and focussed hard to keep from crying. They all solemnly vowed they would not tell a soul about her brother, and would instead tell others that Margaret had gone to live with a distant cousin on her father's side 'somewhere in Spain' without being specific. They themselves, however, would receive an address so they could maintain contact. The ladies gave her paintings they had made during their time together, and Sir Aldridge presented her a necklace with a hanger, the front side decorated with painted marguerites, with on the inside an artwork in which locks of hair of all her friends had been twisted together to create a lovely flower. After the gifts Margaret, who'd thought she'd run out of tears, found new tears to weep.

But the next day when they left, all of Margaret's acquaintances came together in the harbour, as this was the only occasion during which it could be accepted that someone in mourning like Margaret could greet everyone a last time. It was a solemn and tense affair, though surprisingly many people had shown up.

All pupils of her father, almost all company owners she'd ever set eyes upon and their wives, her friends, and even Higgins who she hadn't given a lot of attention once her mother came close to dying. She gave him a warm greeting and apologized for her lack of attention to him, but he, though stern, impressed on her that given the circumstances it was more than understandable.

She made her way through the crowd, exchanging brief but meaningful conversations to everyone. Her friends kept it short however, both because of the amount of people present and because they knew how this would add to her already great sadness. Everyone she'd said her goodbyes too flocked together in small groups to talk as they awaited the departure of her and Mr. Bell who was talking to some company owners.

Last in line, as if fate had thrown him in deliberately at the last spot to make her doubt her decision, a last buoy to signal her that after him, came wild unsure waters, stood Mr. Thornton.

The circumstances under which they had parted and under which they now met again could not differ more.

When she last saw him, they'd finally left the lingering fowl taste of the proposal behind them, and she had even dared dream about how it might have been had her mother not been ill.

Now he reminded everything she had lost: the mother and father she had preferred to stay with instead of marry someone, the chance of a life in England, someone she could have loved.

Mr. Thornton was in no light mood either. He hadn't slept in days since he'd received the news that his Margaret was to go to Spain. He had known since Fanny informed him that Margaret had no relatives on the continent that Margaret would have to leave, yet the news itself had still managed to destroy him.

Four times. That was the amount of times when he'd almost stormed out of his office, bed or dinner room, wherever he was at the moment his thoughts became to overwhelming, to propose to her again. Three times he'd managed to stop himself with the knowledge that he had been refused before and that a lady in mourning would be almost forced to refuse him for propriety's sake. The fourth time he'd managed to make it out into the street, box with engagement ring in hand, when his mother had run after him and begged him to reconsider.

He wondered if it would have made a difference had his mother not stopped him. Would he have gone through with it on his own accord? Would another option than 'no' have been possible?

She was so close to him, he had half a mind to take her into his arms and take her home with him like a caveman. With every second, his hate for society grew. It was society which had pushed them into these positions. Society telling women to take care of their elders, society forcing mourning people to suffer in solitude, society not allowing women to live independently without risking their reputations.

'Mr. Thornton, thank you for coming.'

Her voice was so small and unsure. He couldn't help but think back of her youthful unbothered gaze and strong and clear voice when he'd first met her. Was he to always stand by idly whenever she so clearly suffered? He'd seen her growing wan and tired twice now, and he doubted he could stand to see it happening a third time.

'You are going then.' It was neither the smartest or most useful of remarks. Weeks lay between them, yet it was the first thing that came to mind.

'Yes', Margaret confirmed in a soft voice.

Neither were overly eager for her departure as they looked at the boat and towards each other again. It was impossible that the memory of the last time they'd been in the harbour together wouldn't force itself into both their minds. The tensions during the riot, their embrace, his declaration of love and her fervent denial that anything between them was going to happen. How far they'd come in their understanding of each other since.

'I brought you father's Plato, I thought you'd might like it. I didn't know whether you two ever finished discussing it. It contains all his personal notes of critique, questions, own opinions, selected paragraphs.'

It was almost like she gave him a piece of her father, the man he'd grown to like so much in such a short time, and had felt like a kind fatherly figure he'd never had. In this were his words, his thoughts, his believes. It must not have been a book of her father's she had an easy time parting with. Mr. Hale himself had told him he'd discussed the work with his daughter at lengths before.

'I shall treasure it.' Her eyes fluttered towards his. Her gaze was searching and he feared his was all too open and telling. Purple bruises had formed underneath her magnificent green eyes from a lack of sleep as well, but her face was as clear as it had been the day he met her. Her bangs now resting against her temples instead of her forehead. It made him realize just how much time had passed.

'As will I your father's memory. He was a good friend to me.'

She didn't look at him as he spoke. His deep low voice moving all kinds of emotions in her, fighting to break through the layers upon layers of heartbreak and hollowness. How could she look at him, knowing how his piercing blue eyes and dark brow had always managed to unsettle her before? She was already struggling so hard to maintain her composure. His words only got a small smile out of her as she remembered all the nights she'd come home to find the two of them discussing a philosopher.

'You're not coming back.'

_How could she? Why would she? _

The questions ran through both there minds in similar screaming voices of anguish.

'I wish you well, Mr. Thornton.'

'A safe journey, Miss Hale. I wish you… all the courage and happiness.'

The statement was more generous than honest. He could barely bring himself to wish her well, as she was leaving him. He much rather she stayed put, even though he knew this place had brought her little more than loss. But he knew that she deserved happiness after all she'd been through.

He let her go, his sole chance of happiness, and sent with her all the remaining courage he still possessed to go through life.

She took the arm of Mr. Bell, and approached the ladder of the ship.

Once her figure was on that boat, the last fleck of colour in his grey life would finally disappear.

'Look back', he begged internally as she placed her first foot on the ladder.

A single glance to show she cared about what she was leaving behind.

'Look back at me.'

He knew it was unreasonable of him to wish she'd occupied herself with falling in love while nursing a dying mother and having both her parents die. Yet he wished and prayed that by some miracle, she'd fallen in love with him as well, and suffered just as much as him from being parted.

One look of her would be enough to make him dash towards her through the crowd. One look would be enough to offer himself to her again with a heart even more her own than when she broke it four months ago.

But she did not look. Not because she did not care, but because one look would shatter her completely.

'Margaret, do you wish to wave at your friends from the deck?' Mr. Bell asked.

It would be the polite thing to do, and if she was far away enough, she would not be able to see them sharply enough, nor would they notice her tears.

'I'm going to lay my bag in my cabin first', she replied. It would give her some time to breathe, and hopefully by then, the ship would have hoisted the anchor.

Mr. Thornton could not see her face sharply as she finally approached the taffrail, though there was no mistaking her figure and the rounder one of Mr. Bell beside her.

She was looking back, but the ladder had been taken away and the boat was faring out of the harbour.

Slowly people started disappearing, having decided the show was over. To them there was nothing new about watching a ship leave, and they were not as close to the people on it.

Had anyone asked, he could not have explained why he remained behind, even when the only others left were Margaret's friends. He could not know, however, that his reason for remaining behind was known to them, and lead them to pity him over tea a day later, as they bemoaned how different things could have been for Margaret had her parents remained alive.

But as it was, he stood transfixed, eyes fixed upon one figure only on the deck. Who had taken his heart with her.

He could almost fool himself into thinking

she was staring back

at him.

And Margaret in turn, looked at him and her friends until they became little more than flecks, blurred by the tears dripping from her eyes. Mr. Bell left her so she could mourn her old life.

It felt like she had left everything behind on those docks.

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* * *

Hola, did you see this twist coming? Are you surprised/excited/hesitant?

I mixed in some slightly altered phrases from the book (about the riot) and some dialogue from the miniseries (about Plato) but I think this will be (one of the) last times I shall use fragments from the book or series. I know i relied heavily on it the first few chapters, but this work has become its seperate entity, but I wanted it to have a strong canon basis, but we're now in unexplored waters hehe.

Comments

sari18: Me too. I'm so blessed that everyone I love in my life hasn't died yet, to have both your parents dying so quickly and almost at the same time seems the stuff of nightmares. I'd say keep following the story to see if she'll be able to embrace happiness :)

Kss: hope you enjoyed the twist :p

Poison Effect: hahah I hope I can keep on fulfilling those needs :)

LoveInTheBattleField: it'll be some time until you've wrestled through the chapters until you reach this one but I'm happy you're enjoying the story so far and a Happy New Year to you too :)

Playlist update:

The Weekend "Call Out My Name": Reminded me of Thornton's feelings for Margaret, though it obviously isn't entirely accurate.

Seafret "Atlantis": Still one of the almost themesongs of this fic.

Matt Kearney "Ships in the Night": our two lovebirds have now passed the stage where 'fists fly from their mouth' (for now) but they're still ships in the night constantly crossing each other but never meeting because of unfortunate circumstances.

Hurts "Stay": Especially the part

_"We say goodbye in the pouring rain, And I break down as you walk away. Stay, stay. 'Cause all my life I felt this way. But I could never find the words to say Stay, stay. Alright, everything is alright, Since you came along, And before you, I had nowhere to run to, Nothing to hold on to, I came so close to giving it up. And I wonder if you know how it feels to let you go?" _This basically perfectly encapsulates Thornton's feelings. He never loved before. If he suffered, he bore it alone. He still does, but now he's holding on to Margaret, the only thing which - though she brings him agony as well - warms him. He had hope, and selfish desires for the first time. Before he simply wished to help his family, to succeed so that his family would thrive again. He was focussed and proud of his job, but thought little of pleasure or joy. This was the first time he hoped, and now he has to let that hope go since he doesn't think he'll see Margaret again. Margaret doesn't know how he feels, but she now knows very well how it is to let people go.

You can still find the full playlist as "Pride and Power" on youtube on the channel Belgianbisous.

Have a nice evening everyone!


	19. To Mend a Soul

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But, oh, to get involved in the exchange  
Of human emotions  
Is ever so, ever so satisfying

And there's no map  
And the compass  
Wouldn't help at all  
There's definitely, definitely, definitely no logic

Björk - Human behaviour

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Mr. Bell worried a lot about his young charge. She'd always been poised and polite, focussing on others instead of herself and content to take a backseat. During the trip to Spain Margaret didn't break habit. She fussed over him as he suffered from a particularly nasty cough, puked from seasickness and was generally in poor health. He understood her worry, having just lost both her parents, but he was annoyed that she clearly suffered and yet still decided to push her suffering to the side to assist him. There was no one looking after her anymore after all, she'd been forced to leave her maid Dixon at home. And had left the little poor servant girl behind as well, she'd cried a good deal when she'd come home from saying goodbye to the Higginses.

'Margaret, dear, I wish to talk to you about something.'

The girl looked at him with her big green worried eyes, nodding severely.

'Now I know you like to deal with your emotions in private, but I feel I must talk to you since I know your brother shall indulge you and you do not have parents left to give you advice. Do not think, because I have seen little of you, that I do not know you. You are overall calm and collected, but I have noticed you are suffering.'

She wished to protest but he raised his hand. She closed her mouth again, but it was still stuck in its petulant tilt.

'You try to supress it, perhaps even in private. You focus on an old man instead of yourself while you obviously have a lot to sort through and I am simply suffering a small illness. This will not do Margaret, dear girl. Do take the time to mourn. Your father has also done like you, pushing his emotional turmoil to the side for years until it became unbearable and only one solution remained.'

The girl looked visibly distraught, she had not yet compared her behaviour to that of her father.

'I wish for you to become happy again, Margaret. I don't know how life has been for you in Liverpool, but judging by the looks of your departure the city has accepted you, while I know there is a big difference in mindset and way of life between North and South. It is sad you had to be uprooted yet again and must now move cities for a fourth time within a year. However, change is inevitable and I do hope you won't let any mourning for your parents or Liverpool get into the way of adapting to life in Spain. The very nature of all things human lays in its instability: life constantly changes, feelings change, people change. You can either accept that change is a part of life, and survive the constant whirlwind of change, or be lost. Margaret, I want you to be happy. I want you to process everything and I want you to try and find joy again in your new setting. I'm not saying you should forget, you can move on though still treasure your memories. Do you understand? You are young dear girl. Try to laugh, find friends, do things you're not supposed to, fall in love, share your life. Don't suffer in silence, and don't carry your memories as a burden.'

The girl was visibly moved by Mr. Bell's speech. She laid her hand tenderly on his.

'Thank you, Mr. Bell. I truly appreciate it. Though I hope you won't be disappointed if I don't immediately show sign of a change.'

'To change is hard, dear girl.'

He could only guess what was happening in her mind right now.

'I'll leave you to your thoughts. I'm going to bed, perhaps some sleep shall restore my strength.'

Margaret remained behind on the dark deck, sorting through all her thoughts. Mr. Bell had successfully drawn her existential crisis to the forefront of her mind. Change, the very thing she had been unable to accept in her life. That inability had overshadowed almost her entire experience in Liverpool.

Unable to let Helstone go, she'd spent a long time loathing Liverpool and every way in which the city and its people differed from her old hometown.

Unable to let go of the idea she had of herself as a daughter and a maiden, she hadn't recognized love or accepted herself as someone who could one day marry. She'd never been able to envision herself as a lover.

And lastly, where her thoughts halted: she had been unable to transition into a new kind of relationship with Mr. Thornton.

She'd been starting to get better at letting go, but Mr. Bell was right. It was a problem of hers. A problem that had made it hard for her to get settled into Liverpool. It had also caused her a lot of trouble during her stay. Chances were she could very well carry it with her to Spain.

••••••

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Mr. Bell and Margaret arrived safely in Cádiz. But after having lived in Liverpool and London, the city didn't feel as shocking to her as it once might have. It was a harbour town, something she was now quite used to. The diversity and the crowds didn't overwhelm her, and the city itself reminded her of London in some ways. Everywhere there stood beautiful historical buildings, the roads were old and monuments were present everywhere. She gazed at it all as she and Mr. Bell were escorted out of the city by her brother.

Their road lead them across a very long bridge which had been built in 1812. Anywhere Margaret looked she could see ships coming in from all directions: large frigates, small fishing boats and large merchant ships such as her friends from Liverpool possessed. The thought of Liverpool brought her some sadness just as she'd been enjoying the new city.

He apparently lived close to Cádiz but not in it, he'd simply picked up the letters at the post office all this time, it wasn't far removed from his work anyway. The address Margaret's family had been sending to, had been the address of the postal office. The office didn't consider this strange. He was far from the only man not wanting to be found in the city. He trusted his family completely, but he also trusted the English to be meddlesome and set on revenge, so he'd never given a fixed address, just in case the correspondence from the Hales was ever picked up.

The carriage they sat on was the carriage of the printing press firm he worked for. He and his wife's brothers were in charge of it, so they used the carriage after hours for their private use as well. Margaret's heart almost jumped out of her chest when the carriage halted in front of quite a large white house in a palm tree lane looking out over what was apparently the 'Ria de San Pedro' which translated to the river of Saint Peter. Margaret committed the word ria to memory for later use.

After living in London, and eight months of living in an encapsulated house only overlooking a grey street and the backs of other houses she was excited to strike up residence in a house facing an unlimited horizon, showing sky and sea as far as the eye could see. Something about the vastness of the horizon moved something in her heart, but before her feet could strike up root on the street her brother pushed her inside.

The ceiling was low and the interior of the house didn't quite reflect the neat outside, however it felt cool compared to the outdoor heat and looked cosy and comfortable.

A Helstone sitting room away from home, Margaret realized.

Her brother cried something in Spanish, with a light female voice responding back in Spanish. Frederick left to carry some more bags inside, and so she and Mr. Bell were alone when a woman dressed in a simple red dress with short sleeves. Margaret was surprised at the short sleeves during daytime, but the woman appeared to be quite comfortable with her dress.

'Are you his zistair?'

Margaret nodded and the woman smiled. She was indeed beautiful. Her red lips were red and large, and seemed to be constantly smiling, her thin black brows were curved in a manner that gave her a friendly appearance as well. Everything about her face seemed to be happy and pretty, and was altogether very different from Margaret's face which had a general air of reserve even when she wasn't aware of her expression.

'My zistair too. Room?'

The woman had obviously been learning to talk English for a while, but sentences were still something she struggled with, so she often resorted to keeping her talk as simple as possible. She understood more than she could say however, and seemed to get every answer Margaret gave to her questions.

Margaret had received a room on the frontside of the house, which would be warmer, but offered a lovely seaside view. Margaret didn't mind to pay such a small price for a room which had both a great view and a nice amount of space. Everything had been done to make Margaret feel welcome, even dinner had been an English pie instead of a traditional Spanish dish. Apparently her brother greatly appreciated the Spanish cuisine but had been trying to teach his wife some English dishes in case Margaret preferred the flavours from her homeland.

Mr. Bell bit back the pain and looked on in contentment as Margaret was reunited with her brother, and managed to smile more than she had during the entirety of the trip, even though the siblings spent a large part of the night reminiscing and mourning their parents. The next morning they were ambushed by Julia's brothers who came barging in through the back door. They were around her brother's age and lived right next door. It was only then that Margaret stepped into the garden and realized there was one garden for the three houses laying beside each other because each house was in the possession of Julia's family. Her brother had married for love, but he had married very well.

Julia took Margaret out to show her around town before it got too hot, and Mr. Bell remained behind since he wasn't strong enough to stand the heat and exercise. Margaret wasn't either at first, since the two women returned within a quarter hour so Margaret could change. The two layers of shifts, the corset and the heavy English fabric of her dress had made her burst a sweat within the first couple of minutes. Spain was as hot, or perhaps even hotter, than a crowded ballroom at midnight. Margaret felt quite naked walking around in a light shift and a white dress with midi sleeves after almost a year spent in a Northern climate.

On the street many other ladies still wore darker colours, some even wore spencers.

'The temperature is normal for ..' Julia pointed out a couple of women to make up for her lack of words. Margaret simply nodded. She enjoyed everything she saw, but the loss of her parents still weighed her down. Each step on Spanish soil was taken because of their deaths. They would never get to see their son again, laugh again. Though she knew they were probably looking down on them.

Margaret now knew where the church, the baker, a shopping street and a beach were located, before they returned home. Mr. Bell was pleased to see that, every now and then, his goddaughter was smiling.

Feeling his end was near, but knowing Margaret had felt bad about having been unable to say goodbye to her parents, he summoned her that evening. They gathered in a drawing room in private for their talk.

The girl couldn't stop her tears that night as Mr. Bell explained that he had given up hope of getting better, and had deliberately spent his last few weeks making sure his goddaughter would be happy and well off. It had been his duty as a godfather to look out for her, and had planned on doing so for a longer time, but he'd gotten ill so quickly he'd had to revise his plans and had instead prepared everything in such way that she would be settled for the rest of her life. He left her in possession of all his goods, money, as well as a list of names of people who she could contact that still owed him favours.

That night, the last remaining parental figure of Margaret died, and no amount of money could soften that blow.

Frederick and Julia talked, Margaret heard, most often in Spanish but sometimes in English as well. They were discussing her. One head of long thick black hair and another topped with short blond hair leaning closely towards each other, both their hands united on a belly which showed the first signs of swelling at four months of pregnancy. The image of a perfect happy young couple, if it wasn't for Margaret. They worried for her, and worst of all Margaret knew they worried.

But she couldn't bring herself to go on as she had before. Her sadness had been great when her mother fell ill, but she'd gone on to arrange the household and take care of her. When her mother died, she'd soldiered on for her father. After her father died she'd focussed on wrapping up all their business, but now she was left without purpose. The house didn't need cleaning, and there was no person to take care of. She had nothing going for her, nothing to focus on instead of the overwhelming months of pent up sadness and loss.

She couldn't focus on a book, couldn't bring herself to paint, she could barely bring herself to gaze out of the window, but the beautiful sights brought her tears instead of peace. Spain had meant to heal her, but everything got worse before it got better.

Her brother tried desperately to catch up, spending entire nights sitting in the garden or in the sitting room with his sister. But life in Liverpool was still a sensitive topic. Her parents were dead, and she shared them with her brother, but Liverpool was _alive_ and hers. There her friends woke up and went about their day without her. There Mary and Fanny and Sir Aldridge were preparing their weddings, transcending into the next phase of their lives. Margaret's heart was too full, too sore. And he couldn't get it out of her.

His young wife, had been unsure how to approach her new sister-in-law. Her brother had talked about her in the most loving terms. Of course, his memories had been of her as a young girl while she was now a fully grown woman only two years younger than she herself. Yet Margaret appeared much older than her, her gaze was weary and distant, her shoulders proud even when she felt defeated, and nothing she herself delighted in could bring a smile to Margaret's cheeks.

Even on days she had felt down herself during her teenage years, and now during the bad days of pregnancy, she hadn't been able to refuse a good meal, but even the dishes Frederick had told her Margaret loved were barely touched. Whatever went on inside that head, it was beyond anything Julia was experienced with. But she could only watch her husband try and cry so much before she felt forced to undertake something, though she didn't know how or what.

After Frederick went to work, Julia approached the girl who'd been sitting in the drawing room, staring outside, another closed book on her lap.

'No reading?'

Margaret shook her head. She'd tried learning Spanish, she'd picked up a few words while listening, but she could never sit down to actually study. Nothing went in.

'Can't. I can't focus. Distracted', Margaret explained in the simplest of terms while pointing at her head in another attempt to bridge the language gap.

But that Julia understood. She couldn't count the number of times she hadn't been able to focus because her thoughts had been too full. She couldn't pay attention to anything her friends or family told her when she was looking at a beautiful sunset or starry sky. She couldn't focus on a book during the first months she was in love. But one thing helped.

She got an empty book, a quill and a pot of ink out of a drawer and set it on a table.

'Sometimes, things need to be out. After new things can come in.'

Margaret looked at the book in wonder.

'You suggest I write?'

'Diary. Story. Pintar. Create.'

Margaret remembered wondering whether she herself could create a story. She remembered she'd wondered whether she could write a story about her brother and publish it as a social critique. She hadn't been able to talk about Liverpool with her brother, but perhaps she could write about it

••••••

.

••••••

.

••••••

.

When her brother came home that evening, his wife surprised him with the news that Margaret hadn't left the drawing room since morning. Her brother feared his sister had sank even further, but when he entered the blue drawing room he was shocked to see his sister bent over a desk, writing at a fast pace, nearing the end of a book. She noticed him and threw him a self-conscious smile.

'No no, do continue, dinner won't be ready just yet. I just came eh- to collect a book, yes.'

When she came downstairs that evening, he seemed to notice the slightest difference in his sister.

After dinner she slipped upstairs again, and spent days and days in the drawing room, until one day she finally exited, her fingers cramping but her shoulders a good deal lighter.

Margaret's spiral towards numbness halted. The sadness continued unperturbed, but the despair had turned and transformed into something entirely else. Instead it was replaced with resolve and determination.

She didn't need any more deaths to realise how fleeting life was. Life was fleeting, and at least two of the people who died had said her in as much words that she had to have a full life. Now it was time for her to honour the dead by fulfilling their wishes, no matter how hard it was for her to move on. No matter how much she wished to wallow in bed. She would go on. She would live. She would persevere. She would be happy. She'd done it before, she could settle in a town and make it her home again. And this time, she wouldn't hide behind duty or any other excuse to avoid living.

Her mother had given in to self-pity and had wasted away in Helstone and Liverpool, forever having a sweeter memory of her life as a socialite despite living a more meaningful life with the man she loved.

Her father had suffered underneath silently carried burdens for decades before he finally confronted them.

Bessy had never been able to live a full life.

Mr. Bell had wished for Margaret to have a full life and to stop her self-destructive ways which until now she'd considered a proper and rational way of conduct.

She would learn from their mistakes and live the life they'd hoped she'd have.

••••••

.

••••••

.

••••••

.

Across the North Sea sat a man, his shoulders slumped because of the weight laying on top of them. They were strong shoulders, but the weight was enormous and he bore it all alone. No books, no friends, but his mother knew. Yes, she had become his confidante because he could no longer hide his affairs hoping for a happy ending to the year.

Yet, his business wasn't on his mind that evening, what had distracted him that particular evening was the news he'd heard during a dinner party. It had been Margaret's friend Miss Gallagher who'd delivered the news which was eating at him right now as he sat in his big armchair in front of the fireplace.

Apparently Spain was lovely. Margaret had spent almost an entire page of a letter talking about palm trees and buildings she'd seen. This was said by Sir Aldridge, who had received a letter from her as well. Margaret had given him details about the city planning and nature since she knew he took great interest in the topic.

Miss Gallagher in turn had laughed and declared she was relieved when she received her first letter from Margaret since her departure and that the tone was as light as one could expect. She was delighted that Margaret got along very well with her distant cousin and his wife, and had already taken in a stray cat which had kept on following her around. But that was not what had him so occupied. She'd also said Margaret could get along very well with the brothers of her cousin's wife who liked to play music for them at night, and she'd even visited town a couple of times to spend the evening dancing with everyone. After that notion the women had started giggling about dark and handsome Spaniards.

It was this which had caused him to retire and remain in his office with a glass of bourbon, something he rarely allowed himself to do. As he looked into the burning fire in front of him, he could almost imagine her in a pretty dress, being swept through the room by dark, slight, elegant handsome men. He imagined her smiling, one of her gentle but earnest smiles she'd occasionally treated him to but was more often directed at Miss Gallagher and Sir Edward.

He could just about imagine the effect her bright smile and green eyes, a rare trait in Spain he didn't doubt, had on the men. But they were doing well with their firm, had family connections, and were in his imagination just as handsome as the women had envisioned over dinner. In his mind they could not be more different from his rough, stern and strong built.

He took another sip, trying to burn away the fierce agony his jealousy brought forth. How he would lay his life at her feet for such a tender glance and fond attention!

The only times she'd been in his arms had been once for a dance, once during the failed raid, and once when she'd fallen off of a statue. He smiled humourlessly when he remembered how worked up he'd gotten over that dance and that embrace. He'd sought so much behind it, while if he'd been realistic for a couple of seconds, he would have known her movements hadn't had anything emotional to them. Her dances with Mr. Ball and Sir Edward had shown how she danced when she felt comfortable around someone.

Would she dance with those brothers like she had danced with him? Or would she dance with them the way she danced with Sir Edward, smiling and touching with confidence?

He knew he had never been so irritable as he was now, during his entire life. He felt inclined to give short answers and barked more than he spoke to everyone who approached him. He knew it was bad behaviour, and it hurt his pride that even his impeccable self-control was starting to slip. He promised himself that after this night he would reign it in.

Margaret may be lost to him, and she might find herself enamoured with the smooth Spanish charm of her extended family, but he would still strive to be a man worthy of her. He would never be like Sir Aldridge or like those Spanish brothers, but he would at least try to act in a way she'd approve of. He would never forget the genuine hope he'd felt when her eyes had grown soft in the Strabolgi's maze, or the way she'd looked at him when he'd caught her after she fell. That had been the only time he hadn't felt like he was unfit to love her.

He was more silent than usual at home; employing his evenings in a continual pace backwards and forwards. His mother however, was more worried than annoyed, and allowed her beloved son to continue his behavior if it gave him any kind of comfort.

••••••

.

••••••

.

••••••

.

'Well good evening, ladies. Ladies?'

Frederick Hale walked through an empty hall and sitting room, and found the fish merrily simmering on the stove in the kitchen. Nowhere he could find his wife or his sister. He was just on his way upstairs when he heard laughter.

Intrigued, he followed the sound towards the garden. There, his youngest brother-in-law was playing on his guitar as the ladies were painting the particularly beautiful sunset. Their conversation alternated between English and Spanish. He looked on quietly for a moment, glad that his sister was growing more active each day.

'Ah, there you all are. How was your day?'

'Oh, fine.'

'I took her to the beach today. By the way she looks at the waves I think it might just be a matter of time before I'll be able to tempt her to get into the sea. She received a letter from one of her friends as well and she didn't become glum. And her Spanish is improving too. She even managed to get the genders of most of the words right', his wife laughed in Spanish.

He gave his wife a kiss and rubbed her growing belly before greeting his sister.

'It looks beautiful Margaret, way better than the paintings mother forced me to smile and nod at when you were younger.'

'Frederick, I was a child! What an awful thing to say. Now I know I'm not good, but there's no need to say such truths to a child.'

'That's why I say it now. You've made wonderful progress.' She was still a good deal worse than his wife though. 'I do think Young Margaret would have survived though. You were shy but you never had any problem talking back when you thought anyone did you or someone else injustice.'

'It's a family trait', Margaret shrugged before returning to her painting.

'Margaret Hale, was that a joke? You? Why, I hadn't thought you capable of it.'

'Enough with these insults, your poor sister!' cried Manuel, jumping up and pushing his guitar into Frederick's hands.

'Had you talked to my sister that way, I would not have allowed you to marry her. Señorita, your brother is cruel. It is a miracle he managed to seduce my sister if this is how he talks to other women.'

'It is fine, Manuel.'

'No, no. Frederick. You do not call your sister both without skill and without humour in minutes. Apologize.'

Everyone was smiling, taking the whole affair light heartedly. 'I apologize, dearest Margaret, for offending and insulting you. You are still an amazing woman after all, and a far better child of your father than I ever was. I mock your art yet cannot paint myself, and I don't know half as much as you do.'

Margaret had the decency to blush, and was surprised at the statement. She'd always considered him the golden son of their home, her mother's favourite child. But she'd never realized, she'd been her father's favourite because she was a good deal more careful, pious, studious and temperate than her brother.

'Apologies accepted.' Margaret replied in Spanish.

'The food is ready, or rather, almost burning!' cried their housemaid. The second brother; Jaime, was quickly fetched and everyone went inside to eat.

After dinner, the brothers remained downstairs with Julia, as Margaret took Frederick upstairs to what had effectively become her drawing room.

'I know you've been wondering what I spent doing here all this time.'

Her brother, who had never learned to filter his words or pretend to be anything he wasn't because his behaviour was always tolerated and appreciated by all those around him, nodded.

'I admit, I kind of did wonder. Did it have something to do with those notebooks?'

'Julia suggested I should write, when my head is too full to read. It worked very therapeutic at first, but then it became addictive. And now I regularly find my fingers itching whenever an idea pops up in my head, or a memory. It helped me put my feelings into words, to analyse them, to interpret them. It was safer this way. The last year has been so much… so whenever my feelings became overwhelming, I pushed them back to focus. But in the safety of this room, now that everything's behind me, and I had all the time… Well.'

Margaret walked to her desk and ruffled through the books, procuring one and carrying it back to him.

'Lately, I've been transforming certain events into pieces I wouldn't mind others reading.'

'You mean books?'

'That sounds so serious, I don't dare say this is anything near as good. But you can have this one if you like, it's yours.'

'Mine?'

'You'll have to read it, Fred.'

And read he did. As a matter of fact, he couldn't put it down for the remainder of the night, and stormed into her room right before the break of dawn.

Margaret woke up, quickly pulling up her covers as she stared at the figure in the door in shock.

'Frederick?'

'You got quite a few things wrong about life on a ship, but damn Margaret, this… This is… Unbelievable. Would you mind if we publish this?'

'Publish?'

'Well, you changed names and situations more than enough. But the story, the adventure, the happy ending, the moral lessons, it's brilliant. Me and the family will do our best to do your words justice as we translate it into Spanish, though I want to publish it in English as well. Do you – do you approve?'

Margaret was too shocked to answer. She? A published author?

'Do you have more books?'

'I do, one. I'm still finishing up others. But I don't know if those are fit to …'

'I can't believe you've made me into such a hero while I just stood up for what was right once.. Well, once in a way worthy of any mention. And that was considered my worst crime at the same time. Are the other ones about sea-farers as well?'

'Actually…'

* * *

Thanks so much for reading everyone, I'm overjoyed with the response I've received to the last chapter. I deliberately didn't delve too deep into Margaret's head. I want her personal journey and thoughts to private, so that she is about as closed off to us as she is towards the other characters. She has kind of lost her purpose and voice, both in her own life and in this story, but we will start seeing more of her mind again in the next chapters. I really want Margaret to be better off in my story than in the original book, which was kind of bitter sweet in my mind. Also, I know this chapter went by very fast but I want to say that it spans from the middle of April to early July. The reason why it goes so fast is because Margaret spends a long time in her morose state, and it takes a long time for her to get to the point where she is at the ending of the chapter, but I didn't feel like drawing out that part since it isn't the focuss of my story.

Now a little challenge for you dear readers, I only have about six chapters to go (unless I'm going to split future chapters up, which could happen). Now I'm excited to perhaps hear some guesses. Now I won't tell, but it would endlessly amuse me :)

The music:

\- Björk "Human Behaviour" for Margaret's part, I think upon listening it becomes clear why.

\- Lykke Li "Possibility" (or: how to spot a former Twihard in 2020) for John's part. He's obviously dealing with serious business troubles, but he's also suffering his first heartbreak. A heartbreak that's currently being worsened because of jealousy. Now we know from the books that he was quite obsessed with Margaret's potential lover (which I've cut out because it didn't fit in with my story), so I made him show some bits of jealousy with Mr. Ball, Sir Edward and now with her brothers-in-law. His heart is really dying, the poor man needs some love and luck but he obviously isn't getting it. Ever since she left, his trouble has only grown. His last bit of happiness and hope did leave on that boat with her. 'All I gon' get, is gone with your step' and 'I fall when you leave' is quite literally what's happening to him.

\- Govi "Noches en Andalucía": the song I imagine Manuel to be playing a version of.


	20. Prospering and Withering

**They say there is a war  
Between the man and the woman  
I've never felt like this before  
My heart knew that I couldn't  
And then you take me in  
And everything in me begins to feel like I belong  
Like everybody needs a home  
And when I take your hand  
Like the world has never held a man**

**AURORA – Exist for love**

'I have a proposition.'

John Thornton swirled the bourbon around in the low crystal glass.

The lively conversation about some new upcoming author at the dinner party that had been thrown to celebrate the return of the now married Mr. and Mrs. Kearney and Sir and Lady Aldridge was no more than mere background noise to him, but since Sir Edward had demanded everyone's attention, the babbling had ceased. The heavy voice entered his ears, but he did not listen.

Instead he focussed on the coolness of the glass against his fingertips as he soaked in the warmth of the roaring fireplace behind him. August had its chilly rainy days, especially up North, and he wasn't in the habit of warming his own rooms anymore. His back was stiff from days spent behind his desk in the cold brick warehouse.

He'd cut out every expense he could, and was glad Fanny was no longer his burden, meaning he could still offer his mother the comforts she deserved for the time being.

'Now that all weddings are out of the way, and we have nothing but dreary business to look forward to, I suggest we all reserve the last week of August for a birthday party.'

John inhaled the bourbon in one go, a butler subtly filling his glass for the third time. He would still not consider himself a drinker, he didn't wish to spend his earnings on bottles every night, but as he'd given up the luxury of reading and learning once more, and rarely stayed long at parties after dinner, his only relief was the night cap he enjoyed every night to burn away the bitter taste his bills left on his tongue. Now that he was here though, he had a mind to drink enough to grant himself a dreamless night. All his dreams did was remind him of what he'd lost, and make him wake up cursing the life he was living.

'A week for one birthday party?' Miss De Vere asked.

'A week, or maybe even two! Since this person, who is so dear to all of us, lives quite far away. I have contacted her relatives in utmost secrecy, and have received their reply three days ago. My friends, what say you, shall we see the wonders of Spain for ourselves and visit our dear Margaret in Cadíz?'

The mention of Spain sparked an immediate reaction in Mr. Thornton, he now fervently wished he had paid more attention.

Unfortunately, Sir Edward did not feel the need to repeat himself as the whole table exploded with enquiries and discussions.

Since her departure, he'd inhaled sorrow with every breath. Absence had made his heart grow even fonder, but it sure made him feel even more alone. She tormented his dreams as she appeared in memories, or sometimes fantasies of his own fabrication, in which she was still in Liverpool attending dinner parties, jumping at occasions to critique him. Sometimes his mind was even more cruel, blurring the line between memory and fantasy, as he dreamt of kissing her after catching her, or her running back towards him on the docks on the day of her departure. Mr Thornton was still in love with Margaret, despite all his efforts not to be. He had tried hard not to see her, but in his dreams she came dancing towards him with open arms.

What he'd give to see her once more, and meet her as he was, before having to leave his life and all dreams of what they could have been behind to enter a life of service once more.

'Since married life has made me soppy, and I was already too piano to begin with, and I love you all dearly, I insist that no one refuses on the account of the costs. I shall take care of them.'

There was little left for John to do in Liverpool at present, there were quite some orders at present but nothing that demanded his attention, and business was doing fine, which made it all the more heart-wrenching that no amount of good business could make up for the losses of the past winter, and he would have to close although business was doing well. In some of his dreams, he had chased her across the sea, and she had been waiting for him, but these had been dreams, he had no right to visit her. To add insult to injury, news had reached him of Mr. Bell's death and will. When he went bankrupt, he would have to report to Margaret, the irrefutable proof that he was an unworthy failure.

'Thornton, you are joining of course?' Sir Aldridge asked with a smile while the others were still excitedly talking. It made no sense for him to go, he knew. Margaret wrote to Mrs. Kearney, to Sir Edward and his sister and to Miss De Vere. But Mr. Ball and him had no family members writing to her. No one would deny that they had moved in the same circles a lot, but they had never been friends.

'I doubt Miss Hale will be expecting me.'

'She won't be expecting any of us, my dear fellow.'

'You know what I mean.'

'I do, and I assure you, I am certain Miss Hale will be delighted by your presence', Sir Aldridge declared with an amused smile.

John did not understand Sir Aldridge's smile, or the meaning of his words, but accepted that he was to come along. He nodded slowly, lips stretching into a wry accepting smile. Images of green eyes and slim hands filling his mind, absorbing him so wholly he barely managed to catch a thing of what was being said.

Before he walked home, it was decided that in a week's time, they would leave for Spain, and arrive just in time for Margaret's birthday, with Sir Edward promising to arrange the transport and accommodations.

••••••

**x.X.x**

••••••

'Mr. Thornton, have you read any books of Lea Ret Graham?' asked Mrs. Kearney.

John Thornton looked aside to see the younger woman had come to join him at the rear of the ship. His gaze returned to the sea splitting behind the boat, sloshing angrily.

'I'm afraid I have had little time for leisure these past months, Mrs. Kearney', he answered.

'But you are on a holiday now, are you not? She's a real up and coming wonder. Published at the firm our dear Margaret's cousin works at', she answered. Her voice rose, as if she hoped this piece of information would draw his attention. It did.

'You have been quiet as of late', she noted.

'I find that there is little need for my attributions. All that needs to be said is said by others. I don't waste my breath on useless talk.'

Men of Liverpool weren't known for their many or pretty words. They were straight to the point, business-like of mind and spirit.

'Perhaps you could deliver a real contribution if you read one of her books. We do love discussing them. I'm curious what your opinion is on the themes she tackles.'

John was too tired to argue, two days they had been at sea, and he still felt weighed down by business. Sleep did not come to him easily, nor did conversation, yet he had no excuse for the dark circles underneath his eyes or his silence. Perhaps reading would offer him an excuse to be by himself and withdrawn, and an excuse to stay up long.

'I do not presume you have them with you, do you, Mrs. Kearney?'

'You presumed wrong', she smiled victoriously, but Mr. Thornton was too tired and uninterested to take notice. He was oblivious to her joy and her intentions.

'I have her three books. She has written all of them this year. Is that not miraculous? Not even Miss Austen writes at such a pace?'

'I heard of her', John admitted with a smile in a feeble attempt of humour.

'Of course you have, you are not a savage', Mrs. Kearney laughed.

'I shall fetch them for you.'

'All?' he brought out. 'Had I not better start with the one?'

'I only wished to give you a choice.'

'Tell me, then you only need to carry the one.'

'Oh dear', Mrs. Kearney brought out.

'There's one about a sailor who stood up against his captain during the year '08, and follows his life after he is declared a traitor by the English crown and flees to the United States. The second one is about a young woman of colour from the colonies navigating through English society as she and her father fight for her rights as his lawful daughter. And the last one is about this young southern lady who arrives in a manufacturing town called Milton and tries to adjust to a life there. They're all a lot deeper than that, they tackle all kinds of social issues, and there's a lot of societal critique and moral lessons in them.'

'The first one sounds like it has the least amount of romance.'

'I'm afraid you're wrong, sir. The story moves back and forth through time, he finds love in the states.'

'Of course he does', Mr. Thornton noted. A female writer, what could he expect?

Admittedly, he was drawn towards the first novel nonetheless, having been a sailor himself he was attracted towards the premise, however he loathed the idea the protagonist was a traitor who disrespected his superiors. The riot was too fresh in his mind, his heart still too angry.

'Which one do you suggest, I trust your taste.'

'You flatter me, sir. I believe you will enjoy the last one best.'

Mr. Thornton nodded in agreement and the last book was fetched.

'North and South', it was called.

'I'm afraid you shall have to put up with my silence a while longer, Mrs. Kearney', he smiled as he observed the length of the novel.

'It is quite all right, Mr. Thornton', she answered sweetly.

He excused himself, sitting down on one of the seats on deck. Married couples passed him by as they promenaded the deck. He was not one to remain inside, and was glad he had somewhere else than the sea to focus his gaze in an attempt to avoid looking at the couples.

He had read a great many books as a youth, as long as he had the possibility, but they had always been of the serious kind: philosophers, politicians, economists, scientists! He knew little of novels, and had only read one or two novels before. Therefore, he had not been prepared to be thrown into the mind of nineteen year old Elinor Rose, a girl from a town not far removed from Bath. He had never claimed to understand the female sex, and found himself amazed by the inner world which was revealed to him.

Such turmoil! Such philosophising! The constraints of society had never seemed as tangible and hindering as they did in this novel. He had always believed man was free to decide his fate, and this book showed just how little this was the case for women, and just how much critique they could count on if they went against the wishes of society and the expectations of men and other women.

This was a smart woman, he thought to himself, who knew her classics and understood her society, whose spirit was one of utter devotion to family, God and society, yet the men of the cotton manufacturing firms pushed her into a corner, the women in the streets were cold and mean-spirited, and she was left isolated with no-one but lowly workers as her friends. And those friends died!

His mind could not help but think of one other such creature, who was clever and educated and gentle.

Did Margaret read fiction, he couldn't help but wonder. She did not strike him as a novel reader. She was probably quite satisfied with Plato or Aristotle. But these books were published by her distant cousin, perhaps she had read these books months before him, out of loyalty for the family member who took her in.

He did not expect himself to be so invested, although he did not agree with all that was written. She had the spirit of a rebel and the mind of a mule. She resisted understanding the opinions of the mill owners. She rejected all reasons why they led their companies the way they did. He understood them, as a company owner himself. She even thought poorly of the best mill owner of them all, who was almost too good to his employers to be true.

He could not help but admire the man who was a real force of will, with a spirit of determination and a self-made man.

_I was like him once,_ John mourned, _but now I am old._

He violently wished the novel would show a glimpse inside his head, but this was not to be. It was limited only to Elinor Rose's perspective.

Days flew by as he devoured the novel.

By the time it did turn romantic, he was wholly invested in the mill owner and the merchant's daughter.

He was shocked when they arrived in Spain, as he had lost track of the days.

The weather was as Spanish at it could he, John concluded as the harbour neared, the sun stood right above them, drenching them in her scorching heat. Their location on top of the sea allowed a breeze to lessen its effects temperature wise, but already the ladies had crawled underneath umbrella's, covered until their fingertips in lace and linen to shield their porcelain skins.

It was but a temporary solution, as thirty minutes later the ship docked and they were thrown onto land. Even he, who was used to spending time at sea, struggled to regain his footing at first, it had been months since he had last set foot on a ship after all. But the ladies and Sir Aldridge struggled. Meanwhile the men were only inconvenienced for a minute, but their heavy woollen and cotton fabrics and heavy layers made them victims of the merciless temperature.

The Spanish are devout Catholics, perhaps they had felt the heat of hell all their lives, John Thornton mused.

'We heard you were talking English, does anyone of you happen to go by the name Sir Edward Aldridge?' a cultured southern English voice asked.

Mr. Thornton turned around from where he'd just placed his suitcase.

In front of him were three gentlemen, one blond man with sharp green eyes, and two black haired gentlemen with dark eyes. The one was taller, the other more muscled, but each fine looking.

'I am, with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?'

'I am Richard Ford, Margaret's cousin, and these are my brother-in-laws, Jaime and Manuel, oldest and youngest. The height difference remained throughout their lives', the handsome man laughed. The brothers were laughing too, all easy manners. He remembered the conversation about handsome dark Spaniards, and immediately he was irked. These were the men Margaret saw frequently and although darker of hair, eyes and complexion, they looked quite refined and easy-going, exactly the kind of men that had an easy time getting women.

_Not like I stand a chance, I'm going bankrupt, I can't drag her into it. In fact, I'm her tenant now._

There was something about him that struck John as familiar. Something in the eyes and cheekbones. He put it away as a family trait, no matter how far removed they were.

'All three of us have come, one to pick up the luggage, and two to drive our business break and one our landeau. You are with eight, yes? It should work out, unless you all carry a lot of luggage. In which case some of the men need to join the drivers or sit atop the horses', the shorter one laughed. He had an accent but his English was impeccable.

Of course it was, Thornton thought bitterly. _You should be glad, fool, would you have Margaret here without anyone she could talk to?_ He critiqued himself no minute later.

'We left very early this morning, pretending like we had a busy day at work, they would have become suspicious if they saw all of us leaving in a separate vehicle', the older one grinned.

'So she does not suspect anything!' Sir Aldridge cried with satisfaction as they all followed the men to the carriages.

'She is a very smart woman, and a curious one. We do not know. She can have found out by now. But we may hope, yes?' the older one laughed.

All carriages were loaded and so their last leg of the journey had begun. Soon he would be reunited with her! He wished to prepare, but how did anyone prepare such a reunion? His heart was beating violently, and it had in no small part to do with Margaret, although the heat sure worsened his condition. He was sweating and hatless. He could feel his black hair heating up, and his shirt sticking to his skin. He dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. They would not be looking comely unless they had the chance to freshen up first, which he doubted. A company of eight could hardly enter a house quietly.

The youngest brother dropped their suitcases and trunks off at their residence.

He took off his coat, and the other gentlemen followed quickly.

'It is hot, yes?' the Spaniard laughed.

'Even my new brother is not used to it. He has been here for years! Margaret feels it too. New land, new lighter wardrobe! No wool. No problem for a woman, of course. They love clothes', he continued.

John felt the hairs rise when he called her Margaret with such familiarity and fondness. He was her brother, but as far as he knew both were single and not engaged to one another. It should be Miss. And then he thought of Margaret in light fabrics every day. His mind went back to that day in the Strabolgi gardens.

'We did not come prepared, I see!' Sir Aldridge laughed.

'Ah no, but it is fine in our home. We do not care for coats, you may even leave your shiny sleeveless coats off. No practical use.'

This did get a reaction out of the others as well. No coat and no doublet, such a state of undress! On a rational level he knew it was probably nothing to them. The temperature was hot and they were amongst their own family. Yet, to know these handsome men could walk around Margaret in only their… it was unheard of!

Spanish charm, was it, or was it the pure temptation of the flesh that started their reputation, he wondered. But no, Margaret would not judge people for their clothes, and she would probably be above falling for men based on their looks.

They were driven past bright blue green water and lines of palm trees. Gulls could be heard anywhere, and the beaches looked nice and inviting. There were people in the sea, swimming without a care or a bathing machine around.

They halted at a large white house overlooking the bay. It looked elegant, and was drawn up in a decidedly Spanish style, yet it was not overly stately. It looked like a home, one he could easily imagine Margaret to live in.

The door was opened, and a pregnant lady ran out in a blue dress with short sleeves.

'You have arrived!' she cried with a sweet smile and a heavy accent. The blond man jumped down and swept her up in his embrace.

'Does she suspect?' Mr. Ford asked.

'No, completely not', the woman answered.

'Great!'

The man halted on his way to the house.

'Perhaps, we should await the women', he reasoned with an embarrassed smile.

'We could get to know each other as we wait?'

'I am Sir Edward Aldridge. Baronet and not really doing much except for being that', explained the man, who was pulling at his magnificent but stifling cravat.

'Mr. Kearney', answered the youth. 'I work as an attorney and am married to Mrs. Mary Kearney, she is the daughter of Mr. Ball's business partner.'

'James Ball, of Ball& Gallagher Company', the following man explained with a smile.

'John Thornton, of Thornton & company.'

If he knew more about any of the men standing before him, he didn't let it on and merely nodded during the introduction.

By that time the carriage with the woman had arrived, and all were quietly ushered inside. Still, there was no trace of Margaret.

The company was too excited to sit, and all stood in the living room, the ladies covering up their mouths to hush their laughter while the men wrung their hands.

'I get her. She has been busy', Mrs. Ford told her husband.

He could hear voices upstairs in Spanish, and could easily distinguish the hesitant pronunciation but determined tone of his Margaret.

Now he heard her on the stairs.

They were under the same roof again after months of separation!

He was struck anew with nerves. How did his outfit look? Was his face still flushed with heat? Had he changed much these past few months?

He could hear slippers on the stone floor. He could see the ladies almost jumping with excitement, but his eyes remained focussed on the door until, with only the softest of ruffles, Margaret brushed inside the room.

As he looked, he was struck anew with her great beauty. He had never seen her in such dress before and yet now it appeared as if such attire had been made for the purpose of showcasing her noble figure and the lofty serenity of countenance. Mr. Thornton sighed as he took in all this with one of his sudden comprehensive glances.

He thought back of their first introduction. She had waltzed into the room with the same amount of easy grace and confidence, a confidence he realized had been missing in her during the last months of their acquaintance. Her face had become pale and withdrawn during their time together, but was now tan and freckled, her cheeks flushed from having rushed downstairs quickly. She looked healthy and glowing, her shoulders relaxed and eyes bright.

His eyes had been on them and he pinpoint the second they widened in shock.

'Oh my!'

The company let go of their laughter and tension. Margaret stumbled back into the arms of the pregnant woman.

'You like Richard his present for you? A birthday surprise.'

And then broke the majestic appearance, and suddenly she was running into the arms of Mrs. Kearney and Miss Gallagher. After cries of amazement, tears and explanations by Lady and Sir Aldridge, Margaret recovered and greeted all, starting with those who stood closest to the two ladies who had been her constant companions in Liverpool.

Mr. Ford invited everyone into the garden for drinks, and all those who were ready with conveying their wishes followed him.

He was too stunned, too frozen, to do anything. He gazed at her in wonder as she moved from person to person, smiling easily and bestowing a short conversation upon each. This had not been the Margaret who had left. This was the Margaret who had first arrived in Liverpool, before all the hurt and agony, only somehow even more confident. But there was also a lightness, a happiness and a warmth that hadn't been there before.

The sun had defrosted the ice empress, and the Spanish cultured had made her manner more open.

But perhaps, he reasoned, he had simply never been able to see how Margaret was with her friends behind closed doors. He knew Mrs. Kearney, Miss Aldridge and Sir Aldridge knew her better, and she had always treated them with more warmth, even in larger companies.

'Mr. Thornton', she smiled.

He had been so lost in thought he had not noticed how close she'd gotten. Looking over her shoulder, he noticed everyone had gone.

'Miss Hale.'

She offered her hand and he took it quickly, pressing his lips to it. He could feel her fingers curling around his for the briefest couple of seconds, or so he imagined.

'How do you do?'

'How I do? No Miss Hale, how are you? This is your birthday, the day is about you.'

'I am well, I think', and she said it with such earnestness and such a soft smile he immediately believed it.

'Then I am happy today', he answered.

'It was… Exceedingly kind of all of you to come. I cannot imagine how inconvenient it must have been for all of you to clear your schedules.'

'We gladly make time for you, Miss Hale. Your presence is much missed in Liverpool.'

The full lips of her wide mouth formed a lovely o.

'I was only there for a short while.'

'Yet you managed to make an impact on many lives, our presence attests to that.'

'You flatter me.'

'I only speak truth, Miss Hale, plain and simple.'

'I know, Mr. Thornton. I always valued that', she answered, her eyes aimed at the ground before she looked up again hesitantly.

'Spain appears to have done you well.'

'It has', she answered with a smile while looking at her surroundings.

'Not that I found Liverpool to be a bad place.'

'It would be fine if you did, the place holds many bad memories to you probably.'

'And many good ones too. Bad memories and good memories can be created anywhere. I came to like Liverpool, although it took some adjusting. I admired its people, I liked my friends there, and it was where I last lived with my parents. I treasure those months for those exact reasons. Mr. Bell died only days after we arrived, yet the climate agreed with me, I was reunited with my family, and found peace and meaningful occupation. I've come to believe I can live anywhere, as long as I am with the people I love.'

Something about the way her emerald eyes looked at him made his heart beat wildly. He felt agitated, tense. Here she stood so calmly, talking of such passionate feelings, while looking at him with a gaze he could not understand. He was too rough, not made for moderation and temperance, and his emotions ruled his body.

'A home's made by people.'

'Exactly', she smiled.

He felt awkward and lost for words as he fell deeper into her bottomless eyes.

'Happy birthday, Miss Hale.'

'It feels like many years have passed instead of just the one', she laughed, diverting her eyes.

He was thrown off by her comment. Margaret had not been one to laugh.

'Some years feel like that', he agreed.

'My wish for you shall be that all the years you shall live from now on shall feel quick because they are filled with joy and pleasant occasions.'

His years had ticked by fast when his business had been growing. He'd felt strong and young. Now, in just half a year, he felt as if a dozen years had passed.

'Thank you, Mr. Thornton. I feel you are much better at coming up with birthday wishes than I am. Come, let us join the others in the gardens. Spanish wine is truly something else. Although you probably know, you have travelled a lot.'

'I have rarely taken the time to sit down and enjoy the local cultures of the places I visited.'

'Ah, the Spanish know very well how to do that.'

* * *

It's been a long time, so I had to ease back into it I apologize. I never intended to leave this project hanging for such a long time. Hope you're all keeping well and are taking all necessary precautions to stay safe. Much love!

1) Lea Ret Graham is an anagram of Margaret Hale, a little 'I see what you did there' hehe.

2) Margaret wrote her own version of North&South in which she got her happy ending with Mr. Thornton. She changed a few things compared to Gaskell to avoid anyone from realizing it is about her. Elinor Rose refers to her love for Hellstone roses, but Elinor is from another village. Thornton's perspective is excluded. Frederick is left out of this novel. Thornton is a manufacturer (like in the original). And Margaret is a merchant's daughter (a nod to the fact that she does not mind being associated to merchants now). Her mother dies in a carriage accident and her father dies of heartbreak in the book, but only after Margaret is married, because she always wished to have her father present at her marriage and this book is her wish fulfilment. Bessie dies of fluff, like in the original, but Higgins dies in a mill accident of a rivalling mill because she wants to showcase the danger of mill life. In real cautionary-tale fashion the mill of her version of Mr. Slickson burns down due to negligence and overworked employers. This takes out her book Thornton's biggest rival and makes him the most important manufacturer in town.

3) Frederick realized that his normal name could have been found out if he went by the name of Hale or his mother's surname combined with his original first name, so he combined his father's name Richard with part of his mother's surname: Beresford. Margaret is unfazed and quickly uses the name Richard Ford since she assumed it would be weird to talk of some distant cousin without ever giving him a name.

Reactions

nqlb: He got a normal burial in Spain. The changes that brings forth will slowly be unveiled :)

leilalolale: We got a winner! That's almost exactly what happened.


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